More Than I'll Ever Understand
by vontramp
Summary: "Leaning over the sides of the plastic crib, Santana pressed a feather light kiss to her daughter's forehead and gingerly rubbed a thumb across her cheek. "I love you more than you'll ever know - more than I'll ever understand. Suenos dulces mija." Sequel to All Over Me; Family life for the couple, beginning with Brittany's first pregnancy.
1. Chapter 1: You Make It Look So Easy

_"There is nothing more terrifying." Santana twisted around from her place at the crib, barely able to make out her mother's features in the soft light of the doorway. "No fear is comparable to the idea of having your heart walk around outside of your body and knowing that try as you might, you can only protect it from so much for so long. Even for the strongest of us, it's scary. It's scary to think that everything you've done in your life up until this point is null and void now that your heart has been pulled from your chest and placed in another's body. She's going to be everything for you. You'll do anything to make sure that she's happy and healthy and safe."_

_"I have no idea what I'm doing," she whispered._

_Another voice joined in, and she could hear the smile in the words. "None of us do sweet cheeks. But know that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, like the bond between a mother and a daughter. You've been given one of the most precious gifts in the world. Take advantage of every moment of it."_

_Leaning over the sides of the plastic crib, Santana pressed a feather light kiss to her daughter's forehead and gingerly rubbed a thumb across her cheek. "I love you more than you'll ever know - more than I'll ever understand. Suenos dulces mija."_

* * *

The heavy beige door clicked shut, causing Brittany to jump slightly and pull her attention away from her fingers. She watched the broad form of a lab coat move swiftly through the room, reading through her file and snapping on latex gloves. She immediately looked back into her lap, alternately pressing each finger on her right hand to her thumb in order. _Pointer, middle, ring, pinkie. Pointer, mid -_

"Good morning Brittany!" The deep voice snatched her out of her ministrations again and she gave a wan smile in response. "I'm Dr. Jameson, and we're here to - " His light green eyes scanned the folder once more as he dragged out the preposition.

"Confirm my pregnancy," she said quietly, unable to hide the shy smile tugging at her lips. _  
_  
"Right," he returned with a grin of his own. "Are we waiting on your husband?"

"Oh, no," she stammered slightly. "I don't have a - "

He cut her off by resting a large hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently. "I have a lot of single mothers come in here. There's nothing for you to be embarrassed about Brittany. I'm sure your baby will have all the love in the world."

The blonde fought hard not to succumb to the laughter bubbling in the back of her throat, the result being that when the door flew open and her wife rushed in, giggles burst from her mouth and she soon found herself gasping for breath. Santana's hair was unkempt, to put it nicely, and a scowl marred her features. Her eyes were blazing, and Brittany was almost sure that the receptionist at the window had recently been reduced to tears.

"Crazy homophobic bitch up front," she muttered, tossing her purse onto a chair and huffing, before pulling off her aviators and running her fingers through the top of her hair.

"Dr. Jameson, this is my wife Santana," Brittany smirked. The brunette froze, finally taking in the additional person in the room and nodded once in his direction. Her phone went off and she reached for her purse, rolling her eyes before she answered.

"We just got in Noah." She listened with feigned intention, tapping her right foot in frustration. "I'll give you a full breakdown of Operation Lady Baby when we get out of here, all right?" She laughed loudly, winking in her wife's direction. "Puck, you need to scan your man card and make sure it's still intact. I can hear your testosterone levels dwindling every time you mention ultrasound pictures. Tell Mom I'll send her one. Yeah, yeah, I love you too." She hung up her phone and switched it to silent, looking up to Brittany with apologetic eyes.

"Are we ready to get this show on the road?" The blonde nodded, lying back on the exam table and pulling her shirt up so it bunched beneath her breasts. Santana immediately crossed the room, taking Brittany's hand as the goo hit her stomach, causing her to shiver. In any other situation, the brunette would have rolled her eyes at Dr. Dumbass playing Etch-a-sketch on her wife's abdomen, but moments later, the picture cleared, and the tall man pointed to a place on the screen. There, in all of its black and white glory, was the tiny being growing, dependent entirely on the beautiful woman gripping Santana's fingers with all of her strength. Neither could fight the tears welling up behind their eyelids, and the brunette pressed a lingering kiss against Brittany's forehead.

"You look to be about seven weeks along, which is still very early. The nurses will give you the names of some literature to look into, diet suggestions, that sort of thing. I'll want to see you back a little later next month, because by then, we'll have a much stronger chance of hearing the heartbeat." The blonde nodded, sitting up and wiping off her stomach with the proffered towel. "By that time, the likelihood of a successful pregnancy increases, and we can pretty much consider you out of the woods, but given your history and current physical health, I really don't think there's anything to worry about. Brittany, head on down the hallway to the nurses' station, and see about scheduling your next appointment. I'll send Santana out in just a moment." The brunette caught a flash of worry cover her wife's face, and she pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before teasingly smacking her backside and sending her out of the room.

Dr. Jameson tapped a few times at the keyboard, and Santana heard the whirring of the printer before the man turned to meet her gaze. He handed over a few copies of the ultrasound before extending his arm, offering her a seat across from his own. "They'll be giving her the names of a few different books you should look into picking up within the next few days. They're not required, but I've found they help ease the stress of first time parenthood somewhat." She nodded, not entirely sure where the conversation was headed, but not wanting to be rude given that he'd just shown her the first photograph she'd ever have of her child. Turning behind him, he lifted a small stack of paperback books out of a desk drawer, handing them to the petite brunette across him. The title on top was _Confessions of the Other Mother_, and Santana had to fight simultaneous urges to roll her eyes and burst into tears. She flipped through the others, seeing one about lesbian pregnancy, another on building families with two mothers, and a bound article on the importance of skin-to-skin contact for the unbiological mother in the pair. "These are specifically for you. One of my nurses picked them up when you made the appointment for Brittany. She said they really helped her partner when they had their first child."

"I don't know what - "

"You don't need to say anything. Aside from this, I'd like to apologize for my receptionist. I don't know what she said or did, but rest assured that I plan on speaking to her about her actions. You and Brittany are no different than any other couple that walks through our office doors, and I expect you to be treated as such. Have a good day Mrs. Lopez-Pierce, and don't hesitate to call if you have any questions or concerns."

_Maybe Dr. Dumbass wasn't so bad._

* * *

The slender blonde grunted as she felt her body connect with a solid form in front of her, her phone dropping from her hands and skidding across the hallway. She stumbled backward, cursing under her breath when strong arms caught her around the waist and righted her. Hazel eyes locked on blue, and she murmured a thank you, flushing beneath the strong gaze.

"Andy," he finally said, extending his hand to the blonde. "And I'm guessing you're Quinn?" She nodded dumbly, eyebrows furrowed. "Britt and Santana talk about you all the time, and you're in that photo on their wall, right?"

"Yeah," she breathed out, finding her voice. "We've been friends since high school. I moved to Chicago about a year and a half ago, to go to Northwestern."

"I'm surprised I haven't seen you before then," Andy replied easily, matching the shy smile Quinn had unconsciously sent his way. "The girls talk about you all the time."

"I holed up in my apartment for the first year - threw myself into my studies. I ended a pretty long relationship, and I needed to get out of my own head, you know?"

He nodded before a tiny body pepped out from the door behind him, light hair framing big blue eyes tucked behind glasses. "Daddy, your five minutes are up!' Andy dropped his laundry basket to the ground, and Quinn took in a deep breath, realizing her attention had been so fully focused on his eyes that she'd completely missed the basket resting on his hip.

Kneeling down, he cupped the little girl's cheeks and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry Rory. I'm going baby girl. I just made a friend in the hallway."

She peered further from the door, sizing Quinn up immediately. The woman hadn't felt this intimidated since sitting in Sue Sylvester's office, and that was saying something. Rory tugged her mouth to the side before announcing, "She's pretty. You gonna marry her?"

Andy's cheeks flushed considerably before he met the blonde's eyes with an overly apologetic gaze. Quinn was just as red and awkwardly gestured to the door behind her, backing toward it without breaking eye contact. They both nodded slightly until the blonde twisted around to slip her key into the lock and Andy headed downstairs to the laundry room.

"Santana!" she bellowed as soon as the door clicked shut behind her.

"Yes darling?" the brunette called back mockingly from the kitchen, where she had a pot of peppermint tea steeping for her wife. Brittany's non-existent morning sickness had recently transformed into raging afternoon sickness over the past few weeks. The blonde was currently tucked into the couch surrounded by saltines, lollipops, and a two liter bottle of Sprite.

"Why didn't you tell me neighbor boy was hot?"

"Pause and rewind for me Fab-half-gay. You want the token lesbian to inform you about the attractive male across the hall? Right." She turned back to the kettle and grabbed a mug to pour the tea into, effectively pissing off her best friend further as she ignored her. "Besides, you were so far up Berry's ass up until recently that even if I _did _tell you Andy was cute, you wouldn't have listened anyway. You would have turned up the volume on that fucking Streisand album and continued sobbing into your vegan lasagna," she griped, putting down the kettle with a little more force than necessary. "So I apologize if it wasn't on the top of my priority list, what with my pregnant wife and all."

She brushed past Quinn, cup in hand, and when the blonde finally had managed to quell the threatening tears, she followed, finding Santana perched behind Brittany, massaging her lower back with utmost care.

"S? I'm sorry. I've been on edge lately." She paused, hands shaking slightly. "My classes are kicking my ass, and Puck seems to think I'm the Katherine Heigl of his Life as We Know It fantasies, and even with all the distance between us, I can't seem to get Rachel out of my head, and it _fucking sucks_."

Santana nodded, considering her words. "I get you. It's a lot to handle, but you've got to remember that you have people on your side Q. I'm here - we both are - so long as you don't burst into our apartment in the middle of the afternoon bellowing while Britt is trying to keep her Saltines from making another appearance. Besides, should you really be pulling another person in the tangled mess that has been your love life for the past like, six years?"

"I don't know what I should be doing," she sighed, flopping onto the couch. "You two make it look so easy."

Brittany looked up at her wife, who had her bottom lip held firmly between her teeth, trying to hide a smirk. It didn't last for long, and soon both dissolved into giggles, consistently laughing harder as their best friend sat opposite them, completely confused.

"We may _make _it look easy, but we've worked really hard to get where we are," Brittany finally said quietly. "It's not like we didn't have problems."

* * *

_"You have a collect call from the Cook County Jail from _Britt, please come and get me. I'll explain everything when you get here. _Fuck_, bitch get off me. I don't wanna catch - . _If you'd like to accept this call, please press one."_

_Brittany ended the call, slumping back over into herself. Her mascara was smeared across her cheeks and she sat curled up on the bathroom floor, wads of toilet paper surrounding her. Her sobs had subsided to sniffles, but her stomach was still churning over and over again, in time with the images playing in her head._

_Santana beneath that girl - that naked girl. On our floor. In our house._

_A loud knock at the door dragged her from her thoughts, and she begrudgingly pulled herself off of the floor to answer it, still clutching a roll of toilet paper in her hand. If it was the crazy woman from the second floor, she was slamming the door shut this time. Her weekend plans consisted of changing the locks, watching The Notebook on a loop, and drowning herself in chocolate ice cream. She instead open the door to Andy, who immediately grabbed her hand and pulled her down the staircase._

_"Did Santana call you?" she barked out once she'd regained her equilibrium, several steps along the way. He simply nodded and continued dragging her downstairs. "I'm not going!" The volume of her voice combined with her crumpled features brought them both to an abrupt stop. "She fucked up, and I'm done saving her. I'm done forgiving him. I'm fucking _finished_, do you hear me?"_

_Andy took hold of her cheek with one hand, the other grappling underneath the fabric of her Columbia hoodie. His right hand found purchase on the necklace nestled closely to her heart, and pulled it out of her shirt, holding it out so she would look. "If you were finished, you wouldn't be wearing this. You'd have packed your things, left this on the nightstand, and found somewhere else to go. You aren't finished. You aren't even close to being finished. She fucked up, yes, but there's a surprisingly legitimate explanation."_

* * *

"Please for the love of all things unholy tell me you aren't thinking about the time I was arrested Britt."

"You were _arrested_?" Quinn's voice echoed once more through the apartment and Brittany smirked before nodding. She tightened the grip she had on her peppermint tea, waiting impatiently for her wife to attempt to explain the night in question.

"I may or may not have been in prison for four hours and fifty two minutes our junior year of college." She stopped, not intent on continuing, but Brittany nudged her in the ribs once, and she sighed, giving in. "I had to do nude portraits, and apparently the way I 'intently studied' the model meant that I wanted to eat her out like a bad order of Taco Bell, so - "

"So?" Both Quinn and Brittany prodded her, hazel eyes wide and blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

"So she showed up to our apartment in a trench coat, drop trough right there and jumped on me while I was eating Ramen, damn it. Britt walked in while I was trying to fight this crazy bitch off, and it _apparently _looked like I was enjoying getting the Richard Ramirez treatment, so this one, " she pointed at the blonde leaning back on her chest, "ran out crying, and wouldn't come pick me up from jail because she was so mad at me."

"That doesn't explain why you were in prison in the first place S."

"May or may not have also fractured her skull with a film camera," she shrugged. "Self defense." Santana stood, reaching for her wife's cup and wandering into the kitchen to refill it. "And Q?" she called back over her shoulder.

"What's up?"

"That is _not _one of the stories you get to tell my kids about the 'good ole days,' got it?"

* * *

**AN: And so it begins. :) I'd like to once more than everyone for their support throughout All Over Me, and their input toward this sequel. Let me know what you're thinking so far!**

- A


	2. Chapter 2: Let's Get You A Beer

Santana groaned as she rolled over, sitting up to stretch her aching body, relishing in the pops and cracks her neck and back made. She quietly slipped out of bed and grabbed a towel, deciding to use the guest bathroom to shower. Brittany had woken up during the night and spent almost an hour reliving the tastes and textures of their dinner - mashed potatoes, corn, and baked chicken, which had _seemed _safe - but refused to allow her wife to sit with her due to an early call the next morning. Santana mentally counted down the days until the second trimester, knowing they didn't have much longer, because she not only wanted to see the progress of Brittany's barely there baby bump, but she wanted to see the life return to her wife's eyes. The blonde was exhausted - it was obvious in every aspect of her being. There were circles beneath her eyes, and once she'd started recreating The Blair Witch Project in their bathroom every evening, the glow she'd once radiated diminished. Her smiles were small, if existent, and her movements seemed forced, as though she'd much rather be asleep, and to be honest, she was asleep a good portion of the day already.

Santana had been lining up shoots left and right, to ensure that Brittany didn't have to work much throughout the pregnancy, and to allow them a little wiggle room financially so that after the baby was born, they could both enjoy a hiatus. She had every thing planned down to the letter, so when she stepped out of the warmth of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, she was shocked to find the blonde in question at the stove, making chocolate chip pancakes. The distinct scent of coffee wafted over the cooking, and Santana grinned with excitement.

"Good morning beautiful," she whispered, pressing a firm kiss to her wife's shoulder. Brittany lowered the heat on the stove and turned around to press their lips together, catching Santana's bottom lip and tugging playfully, the hand on the back of the brunette's neck pulling her more closely. When she fell back on her heels with a breathy sigh, leaning into the blonde's arms, Santana grinned, before deciding, "A very, very good morning. How are you feeling baby number one," she pressed a kiss to Brittany's cheek, "_and _baby number two?"

The blonde grinned as her wife gently placed kisses across her stomach, finally bringing them up, past her sternum, around her neck, and back to her lips. "We're both feeling much better, thank you," she teased. "My appointment with Dr. Jameson is next Wednesday, so I'll bring it up then, but I really think last night might have been the last big hoorah for this one," she muttered, poking teasingly at her stomach.

"Good. I've hated seeing you so miserable," Santana whispered.

"Well, give me another week or two, and apparently, I'll be feeling better than I ever have."

"Oh really now?" An arched eyebrow accompanied her query, and Brittany giggled softly before nodding.

"When I talked to the nurses, they all said that I should prepare you for the second trimester." Santana's eyebrows met one another, and continued traveling north. "They said my mood swings shouldn't be too difficult," she said quietly, tracing a single digit up the brunette's arm and across her collarbone. It dipped to follow the curves of Santana's breast as she waited with baited breath for Brittany's continuation. "But I am going to need you - all the time. Every moment you're here, I'll want to be near you, next to you, on top of you, _in _you - " Her voice had taken on a far huskier quality, and Santana was trying discreetly to swallow the lump in her throat and quell the pulsating waves between her legs. "And when you're gone? All I'll think about is your skin on mine, and you moving against me - " She was cut off by lips engulfing her own, swallowing her words as Santana flicked off the stove and dragged her backwards towards their room. Falling backwards on their bed, the brunette's towel hit the floor as she crawled up Brittany's body.

"You'd better start preparing me then," she whispered into the shell of her wife's ear before crashing their lips together once more.

* * *

Saying, "I'm sorry," had never been Santana's strong suit. She had always lived life unapologetically, so when she rushed into the school's library, thankful to see her lighting set up already by a few members of her crew, the apologies on her lips provoke more than a few strange looks in her direction. Portraiture is another thing she wasn't known to do, but the schools, particularly the private academies in Chicago, pay well for yearbook photos, and securing her family's future was more of a priority at the moment than was exercising her creativity.

Double checking the set ups with a few lighting tests, she gave the signal to call in the first group of kids, hoping to knock out this assignment by lunch, despite her late start - not that she has any intention of apologizing for _that. _The kids began filing in not long after she'd given the go ahead, and repetitious statements take over her brain as she clicks through the hundreds of students at Chicago's High School for the Arts. She couldn't help but laugh at the number of Rachel Berry clones she encountered throughout the day, all offering their own award winning smiles and perfectly practiced poses. Each one is one less "tilt your chin down a little," and for that, she was wildly thankful. Santana and her crew managed to make it through the one hundred and seventy two students in a little over three hours, and she finally had a chance to check her phone, grinning when she saw a text from Brittany.

_Picked up a toddler dance class at the studio early this afternoon. Stop by when you're finished? xo B_

She quickly sent a text in response, saying that she wouldn't miss it for the world, and tossed her cell back into her bag while she finished packing away her equipment. She heard a quiet _ahem _behind her, and turned to meet the startlingly green eyes of one of the students whose portrait she'd taken towards the beginning of the day. The girl didn't look like she was going to speak anytime soon, so Santana took it upon herself to break the awkward tension that's permeating the library.

"Santana Pierce-Lopez," she stated clearly, extending her hand, which is received shyly. "Is there something I can do for you - "

"Jordan. Jordan Wells."

"Okay Jordan, is there something I can help you with? We've already packed up most of the equipment, so a re-shoot isn't - "

The girl flushed, looking down bashfully. "No ma'am. I was wondering if you were in need of an assistant, or like, an intern. I'm a junior, so I've been inquiring at a lot of photography firms around town, but honestly, you're the best there is in the city. My dad is a professor at Columbia, and I saw your gallery work there my freshman year. You're incredible."

Santana couldn't help the blush creeping over her own cheeks. Accepting compliments wasn't something she was very good at either, and she typically brushed them off, but the young girl in front of her spoke with such admiration that she couldn't allow herself to protest. "Well, honestly Jordan, I've never considered it, but it is something I could think about. Pull together a portfolio and a resume, and I'll see what I can do, all right? I'll pick it up from the front desk when I come to drop off everyone's portraits next Friday. Does that sound good?"

If the spark in the girl's eyes and the enthusiastic nod was any indication, it _did _sound good. The girl turned immediately and scurried off, an evident bounce in her step that didn't go unnoticed, causing a throaty chuckle to escape the brunette's lips. Santana hadn't considered an intern because she still wasn't convinced that she was worthy of one; she hadn't imagined having someone _want _to work with and learn from her, so it was never something she had pursued. Then again, with the doctor's appointments and Lamaze classes and reading she had to catch up on, not to mention the fact that in six or so months, she'd be completely wrapped around a tiny pinkie finger, maybe an assistant wouldn't be such a bad idea.

* * *

"And step, touch, step, touch, jump out, in, out, clap!" Santana could practically feel her ovaries going into overdrive as she watched her wife lead the rather large group of three and four year olds through a simple piece. The ease with which she quelled one little girl's tears after she'd fallen tugged at the brunette's heart strings, and the brilliant smiles the entire class gave her when she praised them was nearly enough to reduce Santana to her own tears. She stood at the window, quietly observing for some time when she felt another body sidle up next to her.

"Which one is yours?"

A small laugh escaped her lips before she pointed to the very front, nearest the mirror. "The tall blonde."

"Brittany?" Santana nodded, still chuckling. "She's wonderful with the kids. She's going to make a great mother one day."

"We're actually expecting." She rolled her eyes internally at her choice of words. _Expecting? Expecting what exactly? A martian? _"She'll be twelve weeks next Tuesday."

"That's wonderful sweetheart. Congratulations!" Santana caught a blur of blonde wrap around the woman's legs before she called out a goodbye, leading the little girl away. She felt a slight smile tug at her lips, thinking of Brittany teaching their own little blonde dancer one day soon.

Warm arms wrapped around her from the back, nuzzling into her shoulder. "Patience, Santana," she clucked her tongue. "The baby isn't going to come out doing pirouettes just yet." Their telepathy, while at times helpful, had become just as unnaturally creepy.

She scowled a little, turning in her wife's arms. "So what am I thinking _now_?" she challenged.

"Please tell me it's about burritos babe, because honestly, I'm starving." Brittany pressed a fleeting kiss to her wife's laughing lips before grabbing her bag from inside the studio and extending her hand. Santana interlaced their fingers and tugged her to the left as they exited the studio, in the direction of Chipotle.

* * *

Later that night, the two lay curled into one another on the couch, A Baby Story playing softly in the background. Though not her first choice, as Santana had adamantly fought to watch The Bad Girls' Club marathon, she'd found herself pulled into the lives of the couples on screen, consistently pulling tissues out of the box on the coffee table to wipe both her and Brittany's tears.

On the second commercial break of what was probably the fourth episode they'd watched in a row, Santana tickled the blonde's side in an effort to gain her attention. "I had someone approach me about an internship today."

"Why would you want to be an intern? Business is fine, and - "

"No," she chuckled. "One of the kids from the high school I did yearbook photos for today wants to be _my _intern. Her name's Jordan, and she seems sweet. I asked her to come up with a portfolio for me by the end of next week. I figured it would help, so that she can handle the scheduling and more day-to-day things when the baby is born, you know?"

Brittany nodded, eyes focused on the screen in front of her. Santana could see her mind working, as the shifts in her expression changed every few seconds, but she waited, as patiently as she could, for her wife to divulge what had stolen her attention. The blonde took a shaky breath in, rolling over on the couch to face Santana, cheeks streaked in tears. "What if something happens to the baby?"

The brunette froze, allowing every possible negative event to flutter through her mind's eye as Brittany's apparently just had. She didn't have the luxury of breaking down in this moment though. After all of the years that the blonde had spent being her rock, it was her time to return that strength. "Nothing will happen to our baby Britt. Come October, she or he will come out just as perfect as their mother always has been, okay? I promise that our baby will be just fine."

"I just have a bad feeling."

Santana froze once more, hoping her panic was still locked tightly in her chest and not evident in her eyes. If she'd learned to trust anything, it was Brittany's feelings. She'd 'just known' that something was wrong that day in the airport when Santana had been attacked. One weekend when they had planned on driving home to visit, she begged her girlfriend to stay because it 'didn't feel right.' An eighteen wheeler had flipped that evening on a bridge and nine people died in the accident. The last time she had a bad feeling about something, Quinn and Rachel had broken up out of seemingly nowhere. Brittany had never put two and two together, but Santana had, and quickly.

She would make them run every diagnostic test. She'd buy a fetal Doppler, so they could listen to the heartbeat at home and she might not worry so much. If it took all of the money in their savings account, she would spend it all, just for peace of mind. She trusted Brittany's instincts, and didn't think it safe to start doubting them now, but that didn't mean her wife had to know that.

"It's all going to be okay," she whispered into the blonde's hair. "I'll spend the rest of my life protecting both of you. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, love - to either of you."

* * *

"Yeah, Q, a _feeling_," she mumbled, bringing her mocha to her lips and taking a long sip.

"A feeling, or a _feeling_?"

"A regular old something-terrible-is-going-to-happen _feeling_."

Quinn's hands slid around her own chai tea, staring at it readily. "Well shit."

"You're telling me Lucy Q. I cannot wait for her doctor's appointment Wednesday. I think it'll help ease my mind somewhat. You know how creepy she is with 'just knowing' things, and for once, I'm really hoping she's wrong."

Quinn released her cup and took hold of her best friend's shaking hands. "Whatever it is, if it's anything, you two can handle it. You know Brittany would love your child just the same if it came out purple."

"Don't say that. I've been researching low fetal oxygen saturation rates."

"Santana," she murmured, tugging at the woman's hands. "Look at me." The brunette begrudgingly met hazel eyes and let out a breath. "You've got to be strong for her right now. As much as I know you like to, you need to try not to worry until there is something to worry about, all right?" She nodded once, to signal she'd understood, but then stood up abruptly, grabbing her coffee and purse. "Where are you going S?"

"I need a cigarette."

"You haven't smoked since college," she reasoned, unsuccessfully. "Not a single one."

"Yeah, well my psuedo-psychic wife thinks our unborn child is growing multiple heads or something. It's a cigarette or a drink at this point."

Quinn hesitated for a second, considering the options, before linking their arms and pulling her onto the sidewalk. "Let's get you a beer."

* * *

**AN: Please hang in there with me, and remember the beginning of the first chapter. I know no one wants to see Brittany lose the baby, and I will tell you now that I have no intention of doing that, at all. That is not to say that there will not potentially be issues during her pregnancy.**

**Also, I know Jordan may have seemed to come a bit out of left field, but there is a reason for her existence, I assure you. She is an important plot pawn to help re-introduce someone else into our girls' lives.**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I look forward to hearing a little feedback, if you do so feel inclined. Thank you for the amazing response to the first installment. :) - A**


	3. Chapter 3: Red Velvet Cupcakes

"Dr. Jameson, may I have a word before you go in and meet with the Lopez-Pierce family?" A slender nurse in royal blue scrubs had managed to successfully capture the doctor immediately prior to his entering the exam room, hoping to relay Santana's embodiment of nerves to the man before he spoke to the couple. "Santana would like a full panel work up done, but she'd rather her wife be none the wiser."

"Nurse Williams, I told them both at their last appointment that there was little to nothing to worry about," he stated rather brusquely, attempting to brush past his nurse.

"I'm aware Dr. Jameson, as is Santana. However, Brittany has had a gut feeling that something isn't quite right, and her wife would like the preemptive testing to be done so she can more adequately quell Brittany's nerves. Her blood pressure was a little high earlier, indicating a low-risk possibility of preeclampsia, but she feels it's more than that. Money is not an object, but peace of mind is." The man cocked his head to the side slightly, taking in his nurse's own nerves. "Please, simply allow me to run the tests after her ultrasound. If I don't finish my paperwork by the end of office hours, I'll work overtime without pay."

Knowing the nurse's already strong personal investment in the couple, given that she was the one who'd set up their first appointment and had gathered the books for Santana, he conceded. "Melissa, why is this so important to you?"

"Down's Syndrome runs in my family. We wanted to know what preparations would have to be made in the event that our child had the disease."

"You have a little girl, don't you? She's healthy, am I right?"

"She couldn't have been more perfect when she was born," she agreed. "That doesn't mean that we didn't have concerns though, and the testing really helped put my mind at ease. Please, Dr. Jameson. I'd really like to help them." He finally nodded, giving his full consent before turning back towards the exam room door and entering.

"Good afternoon ladies!" Both women looked up to meet his eyes, and the worry was etched across both of their faces. He took note of their trembling hands, clasped strongly together before noticing the tight lipped smile the blonde sent her wife's way. "How have you been feeling Brittany?" She simply shrugged, leaning back on the exam table without releasing Santana's hand, lifting her shirt, much looser than the last time they'd been in this room, to expose her almost unnoticeably rounded abdomen. "Nurse Williams is going to run a few tests after your ultrasound, standard procedural testing, and then you'll be free to go for this afternoon. How's that sound?"

The blonde nodded weakly, while Santana sent the doctor a grateful smile. Brittany didn't flinch when the blue gel hit her stomach, and her wife gentle squeezed her hand, hoping to pull her out of the state of perpetual numbness she'd fallen into. Once the idea of something being wrong with their child had planted itself in the blonde's brain, there was room for nothing else. Brittany vehemently refused to look at the ultrasound, focused entirely on the motions of the device scanning her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes as she waited for the worst, now holding her gaze on the emotions fluttering across her wife's face. The tension held in between her furrowed eyelids drained as their unborn child came into picture on the screen, but the only sense that was working was her vision, which was intent on doing nothing more than enfolding the look of awe playing against Santana's features, and holding tight to it forever. Brittany could barely feel her wife's fingers in her own, nor could she hear the doctor explaining certain portions of the testing to be done while he allowed the brunette the luxury of staring at their child for just a bit longer. When she felt the hand contract in her own, she shook her head, and the dull roaring in her ears subsided. Instead, she heard the steady, quickened pace of thumping echoing another, slightly stronger sound.

"Is that –" Her eyes welled up immediately, and Santana molded into her, tears streaking her caramel cheeks as well. The sound of that tiny person's heartbeat sounding in the room filled her achingly empty chest with hope – hope that maybe they would be okay. Maybe all of them would be just fine, and she and Santana would have the family they'd dreamed of for years.

"It's a strong heartbeat for so early, which is a good sign Brittany. We'd still like to run the panels, if you'll consent to that, just to check on your levels and make sure your diet doesn't perhaps need adjusting." The blonde nodded happily, content to listen to the fluttering in her stomach for a while longer before returning to the reality that she'd have another six long months before she met her child. Dr. Jameson allowed Santana to hold the ultrasound wand until the nurse was in to collect the specimens for testing, glad to see that the worry lines both women had walked in with had subsided considerably as they listened to the heartbeat of their baby.

A knock on the door interrupted their bubble, and the nurse in royal blue scrubs entered after they called out a simultaneous "come in!" She rolled a stool over, tying the tourniquet around Brittany's arm without a word. She was used to methodical procedure, and she was trying to hold strong for the two women in front of her, knowing how fragile Santana had seemed when she'd entered the offer earlier that afternoon. The blonde however searched the nurse's face intently, before declaring her conclusion. "You look really familiar."

Melissa finally allowed a brief glimpse to be exchanged and shrugged. "I'm not sure why. Just one of those faces, I guess."

"No, she's right," Santana protested. "I thought the same thing when I talked to you before the appointment."

"Maybe you've seen me around town," she offered, hoping the pair would drop the subject.

"I teach at a dance studio downtown. Do you have a child in one of my classes maybe?"

The nurse shook her head briefly. "This is going to pinch a little, but nothing too serious," she said quietly, inserting the needle into Brittany's arm. "We're running some basic screenings, for anemia, rubella, and the standard STDs. After this, we'll need a urine sample to check your glucose and albumin, and I'll be taking your blood pressure again, to see if it's gone down since you arrived – pre-appointment nerves, you know?"

The blonde nodded, but her wife continued watching the nurse intently, despite the woman's attempts to distract from herself. "You're Sophie's mother." The nurse flinched slightly as she removed the needle, causing Brittany to hiss in pain. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Melissa sighed, finally looking up at the couple now wearing matching incredulous looks. "I'm not supposed to be emotionally involved in our patient's pregnancies. It can get messy. I figured it would be easier to pretend as though I didn't know you two at all, and hope that we didn't cross paths, but when you came to me with your concerns Santana, I couldn't do it anymore." She pressed a folded piece of gauze to the inside of Brittany's elbow, taping it down carefully. "I remember how good you were with Sophie, and I asked Dr. Jameson to let me do the testing because I didn't want to let worry affect Brittany's pregnancy. You two, more than any couple I've ever seen come through these doors, deserve a child. I have no doubt in your abilities as parents. Soph still asks about you from time to time, you know?"

"It's been almost six years though," Santana murmured.

"Not quite," she let out with a laugh. "We've seen you around town, and we went to your graduation, and a few of your performances and galleries."

"How did you –"

"After you introduced Tommy and Sophie at Pride, my wife and I became very close to Mollie and Danielle. I know you still keep in touch with Mrs. Sonnier, so we'd check up on you from time to time. If I'm right, Mollie mentioned our practice when you told her you were ready to start trying, right?"

* * *

"_We had our third round of insemination a few days ago, so we're really hoping that this one will take," she muttered halfheartedly._

_"Oh Santana, don't give up hope. It takes longer than that for most heterosexual couples to conceive. It took Dani and I almost eight months before I found out I was pregnant with Tommy."_

_"It's just frustrating Mrs. Sonnier, you know? I feel like this is the next step for us. I can't remember the last time I wanted something so desperately."_

_"Well, when the time comes, there's a wonderful ob-gyn in Chicago, Dr. Jameson. He comes highly recommended, and his wife does a lot of second parent adoption work, so you won't have to worry about the legal system if you fall into any trouble there."_

* * *

Santana nodded, and opened her mouth to reply, but Brittany took hold of her hand quickly, cutting her off. "I know this is a little out of left field, but do you think we'd be able to see Sophie? I mean, she's almost ten now, right?"

"Nine and five eighths, if you were to ask her," Melissa replied, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "They grow up so fast. Don't take a millisecond for granted." She shook her head, refocusing on the task at hand. "But anyway, I think she'd like that. Maybe you two could meet us for dinner next weekend? Dani and Moll are coming into town for another gallery opening, and I'm sure they'd love to see you both." Brittany shifted her gaze to her wife, who nodded immediately. "Great. Then let's get this urine specimen and I can send you two lovely ladies on your way."

* * *

"What do you want for dinner tonight babe?"

Brittany sat on the couch, crying through yet another episode of A Baby Story, chewing on her lip before replying. "Could I just have ice cream? Or cake. Could you go get those red velvet cupcakes from the bakery next to the studio?"

"Britt, you don't even like red velvet."

"Yeah, but it sounds really good right now." Santana was still standing in the kitchen, but she could hear the pout in her wife's voice, and knew that this was where it began. She'd discovered a long time ago that she would do absolutely anything for the blonde in the next room, no matter what time of the day or night. She was realizing, however, that that feeling had transformed and now applied to the unborn child growing beneath her wife's rapidly expanding abdomen. Her foster mother may have teased her about being whipped in high school, but she knew that she would go to the ends of the earth for her child, and she hadn't even met him or her yet. She couldn't understand how she could feel so strongly for this tiny being, barely two inches long and just the size of a lime, without knowing anything about them aside from the fact that they shared genes with her and the love of her life. But at this point, she was realizing that was enough.

She walked into the living room to sit a new box of tissue on the coffee table before grabbing her jacket off of the back of the couch and pressing a kiss to Brittany's forehead. "I'll be right back. I've got my phone on me if you need anything else, okay?"

The blonde smiled brightly, nodding, but grabbed Santana's hand as she turned away. "One more kiss?" The brunette rolled her eyes playfully and leaned down to place a much more firm kiss on her wife's lips. Brittany hummed in appreciation, reconnecting their lips several times before allowing Santana to leave. "Almost as good as cupcakes," she remarked happily, settling back into the cushions of the couch and absentmindedly flipping channels.

* * *

"Santana!" She threw her hand up in greeting as she took the last of the stairs up with heavy breaths. She still hated her eighteen year old self for thinking that a fifth floor walk up would be a good idea. She was realizing now that it was completely impractical to stay there, given that in a few months, Brittany wouldn't be able to walk up one flight of stairs, much less _five_. "Santana!"

The slightly more panicked tone in her neighbor's voice brought her firmly back to the present, and she automatically assumed the worst. "What's going on? Are you okay? Is Rory? Oh god, is it Britt? Andy, what's - "

He placed his hands solidly on each of her shoulders, the tangible touch bringing her back from her inherent and automatic tendency for anxiety to flood her. "Just go inside and hold her, okay? She's been sobbing since you left. The delivery guy heard her when he dropped off our Chinese, and she won't open the door or tell me what's wrong."

She swiftly tugged herself from his embrace, and slipped her key into the lock with shaking fingers. The strength of Brittany's crying hit her full force when she opened the door, and walking into the living room, saw her wife sputtering on the couch, gasping for breath.

"Britt? Baby, what's wrong?" she whispered, settling down on the edge of the sofa and placing the bag from the bakery on the coffee table.

"You left," she wailed. Any words after that were a jumbled mess, completely incoherent.

"Sweetheart, I went to pick up cupcakes, remember?" Her voice was gentle and lilting, one hand stroking back the hair falling over her wife's face. "I was only gone for a few minutes."

"I - I thought - " she hiccuped, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the tears from her eyes, as more appeared as soon as she'd cleared the previous batch. "I thought you weren't coming back."

Santana's own eyes widened, and she swiftly pulled Brittany to her chest, wrapping her in a tight embrace. "Oh baby, I'll always come back to you. You're stuck with me forever," she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Promise?"

"I wouldn't have said yes all those years ago if it wasn't a promise."

* * *

_Santana let out a long sigh after waking up, looking to the right to see she was alone, as had been the norm lately. It was nearing graduation, and she understood that Brittany had to practice whenever the studio was available, but that really was no consolation when five or six nights a week she went to bed alone and woke up in quite the same fashion. She wouldn't admit it, but she was lonely. She very rarely got to see her girlfriend, and the separation was beginning to take its toll._

_They'd had a wonderful night out the week prior, and another, the week before that. Two perfect nights, so well thought out that Santana had thought, or hoped rather that maybe - but no. She shuffled into the kitchen, and saw that she was up early enough to actually enjoy her coffee, which would be a first. She found the pot already made, with a sticky note on the counter next to an empty mug._

_"You're still the one - that makes me laugh_  
_Still the one - that's my better half_  
_We're still having fun, and you're still the one_  
_xx B"_

_She shook her head slightly, laughing, before picking up her phone to call her girlfriend. She tucked it between her shoulder and ear, pouring the dark liquid into her favorite mug. The phone rang a few times before going to voicemail, and she let out a groan of frustration. Tossing her cell on the counter, she twisted around, setting her mug down to grab a spoon forher sugar. Lifting the top to the jar, she gasped, dropping both her spoon and the lid to the container._

_"Marry me." Santana whipped around, finding her girlfriend leaning in the kitchen doorway, a smug grin on her face. Brittany took several steps forward, extending her arms, with the brunette happily folding into them. "Marry me and promise today, tomorrow, and the rest of our lives. Marry me and let me show you every day just how much I love you. Marry me and let me protect you and keep you safe. Let me prove that I won't go anywhere. Let me be the one you wake up to every morning and fall asleep with every night. Marry me, and let me promise you a lifetime of laughter and as much happiness as I can possibly offer. Marry me," she whispered once more, retrieving the ring from the sugar bowl - the same ring that had hung around her neck for four years, "and let me show you how forever feels."_

_Breathless and essentially incapable of stringing together sentences with more than three words, Santana nodded. "Yes. A thousand times, yes." Their lips charged together, fiercely moving against the other and the brunette's coffee and morning classes lay long forgotten in the kitchen as they spent the rest of the day in bed._

* * *

**AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. :) Review if you'd like.  
Thank you so much for the overwhelming response thus far. You guys are wonderful. **


	4. Chapter 4: Put It Back

Walking through the double doors of the high school, Santana struggled with the admittedly heavy box of finished portraits, looking around for a map to direct her toward the front office. The school was big, much bigger than her own high school had been, and she wasn't doing much more than walking herself in circles with fifty pounds of smiling faces. Finally stumbling upon the office, she set the boxes down on a chair, looking around for someone to hand the photographs off to, but found her surrounding areas miraculously empty. The principal's office was closed, with the lights off, and no one sat behind the secretary's desk; she was meant to pick up her check, but there was no way to do it if there was no one campus.

Her ears perked up, however, when she heard a burst of laughter from down the hallway. She followed the sound, hoping for, if nothing else, someone who could explain what exactly was going on. After peeking into a few empty classrooms, she found herself ducking into the back of an expansive auditorium, where a small group of students stood onstage, in a single file line. She took note of a few teachers she'd seen the week before, escorting their classes, and the principal, seated in the very front row of the auditorium. Making her way down the aisle, she cleared her throat behind him, effectively garnering his attention.

"Ah, Mrs. Lopez!" The name sat strangely in her gut, but as far as her professional career, she and Brittany had both agreed that it might be better to use her maiden, unhyphenated, and distinctly less _nice-to-meet-you-I'm-super-gay _name. "Are you dropping off the portraits?"

She nodded, before turning her attention to one of the teachers rising to the stage and connecting a microphone as the principal reached into his coat pocket to retrieve her check. "What are they doing, if you don't mind my asking?"

"We've had a few instances of bullying recently, so our junior class president asked if we'd be able to incorporate a few activities from the Challenge Day events." He gestured toward a green-eyed brunette at the far end. "Jordan felt Cross the Line might help build some unity." The check he'd just pointed in the girl's direction was placed into Santana's hands, whereupon she folded it, tucking it into her own pocket.

"Ms. Lopez!" The girl in question raised her hand in greeting, a brilliant smile pulling across her features, before running into the wings and reappearing soon after. She made her way across the stage, holding out the portfolio she'd promised to have prepared. "No one was in the office this morning, so I couldn't drop it off. I was planning on mailing it to your studio if I didn't see you today."

"Thanks," Santana nodded. "I'll probably let you know something by Monday or Tuesday, okay?"

The student mirrored her nod, her smile not faltering, and took hold of her hand, not letting Santana's flinch deter her. "You should do the exercise with us." Mocha eyes bounced between Jordan and her principal, silently praying the man would protest.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," he murmured. _No dice. _"Maybe seeing that a strong, professional woman has been through some of the same things they're experiencing now could be inspiring in some way."

Santana fought the urge to roll her eyes, and instead thought to what her wife would say. _Sweetie, you could change some kid's _life_ just by being you, and showing how absolutely awesome you are. _She sighed. Even in her head, Brittany almost always won their arguments. "Okay," she finally said, albeit almost inaudibly. Jordan squeezed her hand, tugging her up on stage. Strangely enough, the majority of the juniors on stage remembered her from the week prior, or so it seemed, given that she received several high fives, a few shy waves, and one leer from a guy in a letterman who looked like he needed a good ball busting. The teacher, having successfully hooked up the microphone, seemed unphased by the older addition to the group, and simply began the activity.

"Okay guys, this is how it's going to work. I'll read a statement, and if it applies to you, you'll take one step forward. This is all about building trust, so try and be as honest as you can. Don't worry about whether other people will step forward as well, because there's a very good chance you don't know your classmates as well as you think you do. Let them surprise you." She cleared her throat, looking back at the paper in her hands. "We'll start out easy, so, cross the line if you'd really rather not be here right now."

Letting out a small laugh, Santana took a step forward with all of the students following closely behind. _Cross the line if you have ever been in love. _She moved again, with about half of the twenty kids behind her stepping forward as well. _Cross the line if your parents are divorced. _She stayed where she was, but watched the movements of the teenagers around her, some of their facial expressions conflicted, others nonchalant. _Cross the line if you've ever been hurt by someone you should have been able to trust. _Letting out a shaky breath, Santana took a hesitant step forward.

"We're going to get a little more personal as these move on, but try and stay with me guys, all right?"

_Cross the line if someone you love has passed away. _She took two steps this time, daring the teacher to correct her. _Cross the line if you have ever been drunk_. Unsurprisingly, the majority of the students moved forward again, and if she could have, she would have taken a running start for a long jump, given that she'd found herself passed out on nearly every surface of her and Brittany's apartment throughout college. _Cross the line if in the past week, you've felt afraid, or unsure. _Insecurity was one of the few emotional strongholds she experienced on a regular basis, and with Brittany's worries about the pregnancy, afraid and unsure were her go-to feelings lately. _Cross the line if you've ever thought you might be gay. _Sneaking a glance at the principal below her as she stepped forward, she found his face relatively unchanged, though perhaps holding something akin to pride. Focusing her attention back on stage, several students sent her grateful, albeit small, smiles, and she felt a flush cover her cheeks. _Cross the line if you, or someone you know, has been sexually abused_. She and one other person took small steps forward, and looking down, Santana found herself at the end of the stage already. Turning to her left, she met green eyes, welling with tears. Despite the students and teachers around her, she quickly wrapped Jordan in her arms, unsure of what else to do with the quaking teenager.

* * *

Flicking through the photographs in the portfolio, two women leaned into one another, in awe of the work splayed before them. "She gives you a hell of a run for your money Santana," the redhead mumbled. "She's obviously been shooting for a while."

"Yeah," the brunette nodded. "And she seems to be a pretty good kid - good grades, junior class president, the whole nine yards."

"I like this one," a deeper voice mumbled, and Santana looked to her right to see Tommy curled into her side, pointing at a profile portrait, the light casting shadows across a strongly defined face. Dark waves disappeared into the bottom of the frame, and the girl wore a look of serenity. She seemed entirely at peace with her surroundings, and not at all uncomfortable in front of Jordan's lens. It was a look Santana had seen mirrored on her wife's face more times than she could count - a look of complete trust. Her mind flew back to earlier that day, during the activity she'd participated in. She scanned the mental crowd of faces, trying to remember if she'd seen Jordan step forward when the teacher mentioned the students thinking they may be gay. She couldn't remember, and that thought left a heaviness in her stomach.

"Are you going to offer her the internship?" Santana tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, chancing a glimpse at her wife, who was chopping vegetables in the kitchen as Danielle and Melissa moved silently around her, absentmindedly stirring at the various pots and pans covering the stove. She watched as Brittany tapped Sophie lightly on the nose before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, the smaller blonde staring up at her with a look that held nothing short of admiration. This was for her wife, and this was for their family. As much as Santana hated not being completely in control, she was realizing that she would soon be incapable of orchestrating every facet of her life, so she nodded.

"Yeah, I'm going to give her a chance."

* * *

"Britt, put it back." The blonde's bottom lip immediately stuck out, and Santana rolled her eyes. "No amount of pouting justifies the amount of sugar in our basket." She held up a container of brownie bites, another of ice cream, then gestured to the three different kinds of cereal and box of cake mix in the cart.

"The brownies are organic," Brittany shrugged. "Totally healthy." Santana threw a bag of spinach, a large stalk of celery, and a wide selection of fruit in the basket to try and balance the basket out somewhat. Her wife pulled a face when she looked at the brunette's choices. "There is so much green in there."

Sighing, she held up the three boxes of cereal, and made the blonde choose one, before tossing in several packets of vanilla protein powder into the basket as well. "You two need to learn to compromise with me," she said, tapping Brittany once on the nose, and once on the swell of her belly. "I will not have you teaming on up on me when one of you is still in-utero. We need to try and balance your diet somewhat B. I know all you want are sweets, but you _do _have to eat other stuff." The blonde seemed unconvinced however, and on the verge of protesting once again. "How about this Britt-Britt? I'll cut you a deal." Santana's wife then twisted her mouth to the side before nodding twice. "You get dessert after every meal. If we successfully compromise for meals, you get full access to the toy chest - first choice on what to use _and _who it gets used on."

Brittany's eyes widened slightly before darkening and scanning her wife's body, lingering twice, before she grabbed the basket from Santana's grip and resumed their trek through the store at an accelerated pace. In went organic wheat pasta, chicken breast, and another bag of salad. She replaced the ice cream with fruit based sherbet, leaving the cake mix on a display and grabbing a box of cookies with Santana's permission, given that they had a lot of fiber. The basket evened out quickly, and despite a smidgeon of residual guilt for playing on her wife's hormones, the way Brittany fidgeted as Santana dug in her purse for her wallet and the way she continuously ran her tongue over her thin lips while the cashier bagged their items erased any second thoughts the photographer had held. The genius of her plan was only further verified when she had Brittany writhing on the countertop, moaning Santana's name as if it were the only word she knew as soon as they got home. Santana had barely managed to put up the groceries before her wife had attached her lips to her neck, refusing to release the brunette until she'd rode out the wave from her third orgasm, leaving her to begin cooking with a fuzzy mind and legs still quaking from aftershock twitches.

Putting the finishing touches on a simple chicken alfredo, she brought the plates into the living room and handed a glass of almond milk to the dancer, who immediately burst into tears, freezing her wife's actions. "You made the chicken make a smiley face. You're the best wife ever," she whispered, insistently griping the brunette's cheeks and capturing plump lips in a drawn out kiss - soft, sweet, and nothing like the harried exchanges before dinner. Brittany switched the channel, allowing Santana her recently missing dose of trashy reality television. The only sounds were the heated arguments between the people onscreen and the scraping of cutlery against their plates as they sent shy smiles toward one another. Brittany pressed a quick kiss to her wife's cheek, murmuring a thank you before gathering their empty dishes.

"B, you don't have to clean up. I've got it - sit!" Her overprotective instincts were on high alert. She kept a mental list of foods to avoid, made sure no one jostled Brittany when they walked down the sidewalk, glaring to clear a path for the couple, and adamantly refused to allow the blonde to lift anything heavier than a fork.

"I'm not an invalid honey. I can handle a few plates."

Santana fell back into the cushions of the couch, letting out a frustrated huff of breath. Her wife returned minutes later, placing a large glass of wine on the coffee table. "Solidarity Britt - I'm not drinking it."

"Babe, you deserve it. You've been working so hard lately. I just want to show you how much I appreciate everything you're doing for our family."

A smirk teased at Santana's lips. "Pretty sure you showed me earlier."

Brittany smacked her arm lightly, laughing before nudging her gently to scoot forward on the couch, giving the blonde room to settle in behind her. Strong hands began kneading the knots between her shoulder blades, and her every inch of exposed skin was given occasional kisses. As wonderful as the tension fading from her body felt, the slightly rounded stomach pressing into her back outweighed the pleasure tenfold. As Brittany's abdomen expanded, the fictional belief that their child lay safe and sound, tucked away beneath the freckled skin and taught muscles her wife once boasted became a stronger reality. Each inch added to Brittany's waist was a reassurance of the health and growth of the tiny being they'd meet in less than six months time.

Pressing one lingering kiss to her shoulder, the blonde wrapped her arms around Santana's waist, urging her upward and leading her, still intertwined, toward the bedroom. Stripping the brunette of her jeans and tank top, and hesitantly doing the same to her own body, Brittany molded their chests, stomachs, and legs together as she guided her wife backwards onto the bed.

"Can I cash in on the toy chest tomorrow? I just really want to cuddle."

Santana nodded, chuckling and easing them both further up the bed. The blonde curled onto her right side, a habit she'd picked up in recent weeks, and her wife tucked a leg in between her thighs, something they'd found in those recent weeks that made her more comfortable. Santana nuzzled in as closely as she could, and wrapped an arm protectively around Brittany's waist, their intertwined hands resting on the protuding bump. Running a thumb gingerly across her wife's stomach, the brunette sighed contentedly. "I can't wait to meet you mija."

The air was silent for several seconds before Santana felt the blonde fidget in her arms slightly, a telling sign that she had something important on her mind. "Babe, why mija? What makes you think we're having a girl?"

The brunette shrugged. "Extreme nausea, higher heart rate, sleeping on your right side - all old wives' tales stuff - say it's a girl. But me? I just have a feeling - a good feeling." Brittany nodded sleepily, snuggling further into her wife's embrace and allowing thoughts of a baby girl to flutter her mind gently to sleep.

* * *

**AN: I wanted you guys to have a chapter before I potentially hibernate in my textbooks for the weekend. :)  
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please give me feedback, on anything you'd like to see more or less of, what you liked or didn't, or any possible ideas for the plot line that you'd like to see explored. I write this not only for me, but for you guys, so I'd love your input!**

- A


	5. Chapter 5: Everybody Loves A Cougar

The following Wednesday morning Brittany's eyelids fluttered open, her ears distinctly attuned to the far off sound of a blender being operated. She pulled a tank top over her chest, not bothering with sweatpants, and made her way into the kitchen, where she was met with the sight of her wife preparing what seemed to be a banquet for breakfast. Her eyes flit across the counter, seeing a fruit salad, which she wasn't opposed to, an omelet that she was _sure _had hidden vegetables, and a stack of whole wheat toast next to a small pile of bacon. Looking further into the kitchen however, she found her wife adding ice into the blender, a vase of wildflowers in front of her. The blonde lit up, rushing across the kitchen to bombard her wife with kisses which were eagerly returned between chuckles. She leaned forward, allowing the floral scents to intoxicate her as she inhaled , before pressing another hard kiss to Santana's mouth. "Honey, you shouldn't have," she cooed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the other woman's cheek.

The brunette's mouth twisted, and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I didn't. I thought you did."

"How could I have sent you flowers? I was sleeping," she protested, as if her logic was infallible.

"And I wasn't?" Santana returned easily, dumping a few more ice cubes into the machine in front of her. "I just figured you were working your Ninja-Britt skills."

Brittany leaned forward again as her wife started further liquefying the contents of the blender, painstakingly poking through the flowers before falling back on her heels with a huff. "There's no card. Maybe they're from Jordan, to say thank you for the internship?"

"She doesn't know where we live. She would have just sent them to the studio."

"Okay, so maybe it's from someone downstairs. I think the crotchety old woman on the second floor has a crush on you honestly."

Santana stuck a finger in her mouth, pretending to throw up. "Britt, that's gross. She's like, seventy." The thought didn't stop her from sticking a piece of bacon in her mouth before starting to pour the smoothie mixture into two glasses however.

The dancer shrugged, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. "Everybody loves a cougar."

The brunette coughed several times, nearly spitting her bacon onto the counter before glaring at her wife and beginning to pile the food onto a dish. "Go eat breakfast," she muttered, handing Brittany her filled plate, rolling her eyes as the blonde giggled once more, heading toward the table.

* * *

Santana tugged her keys from her bag, slipping the longest silver one into the worn lock of her studio, breathing in deeply as she stepped through the threshold, taking in the familiar scent of vanilla and allowing the white washed walls to sooth her. Her eyes fell over the photographs lining those walls, skimming from the very first photographs she'd taken with the Nikkormat her wife had given her six years ago, to her most recent fashion spreads. Her crew wasn't due to come in for another hour, with the model from Ford coming in an hour after that, so she plugged her phone into the sound system she had installed the summer prior and made her way to the far end of the warehouse, into her dark room.

She very rarely shot in film anymore, given that most clients demanded digital, so she pulled a binder from the wall, flipping through her protected sheets of negatives, pulling two from separate sleeves and layering them in the negative carrier. She'd been printing for such a long time now, she didn't bother with a test strip, and instead, focused the light, soon after securing a piece of photo paper in her easel. Hesitantly burning the edges, she allowed the light to hit the page for no more than seven seconds before removing it and twisting to slip it into the container of developer, slowly rocking the tray. A sly smile formed on her lips as two versions of her wife appeared on opposite sides of the paper, albeit grinning at one another, as if they something the other did not. As she agitated the mixture, she noticed not much had changed in the five and a half year difference between the two Brittanys. One had been taken after their first day of college, the second the morning they'd found out the blonde was pregnant. Her face had softened slightly, and in the second photograph, she was glowing even more brightly than when they'd began their college careers together. It took all Santana had not to trace the outlines of her wife's face as she looked down lovingly at the developing picture. Grabbing a pair of tongs, she methodically moved through the next three steps, her gaze still fixated on the photo before her as cool water ran over the surface, marring her precise focus on Brittany's features.

"Who is that?" Santana nearly jumped out of her skin, her hand clutching her chest as she flipped around, seeing Jordan standing not even a foot away, having followed the brunette's line of sight to the photograph being washed. "I'm sorry Mrs. Lopez. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Call me Santana, please. Mrs. Lopez makes me feel old, and it's not even technically my name," she laughed as the girl's face scrunched in confusion. "That is Brittany Lopez-_Pierce_, my wife." The last two words were said hesitantly, gauging the young woman's reaction, despite her gut feeling that Jordan would have no problem with her being gay.

"She's really beautiful," the girl said softly. Santana grinned, nodding in agreement. "You combined two negatives?"

The brunette nodded again. "This is from the night after our first day of college," she said, gesturing to the left side of the photo, "and then the day we found out she was pregnant," she continued, more quietly, a subtle smile creeping across her features.

"When is she due? Boy or girl?" Jordan's excitement was evident, and she bubbled over with enthusiasm at the new development.

"She's due at the beginning of October, so we don't know yet. You can't really know until twenty weeks, and she's only at about fifteen." She paused, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. "I think it's a girl though." She fought to contain her gushing, as she'd recently realized she had a tendency toward it, and instead refocus herself on the task at hand. Taking hold of the tongs, she carefully lifted the print out of the washing tray before squeegeeing the excess water off of the photo and hanging it to dry. "Head shot model coming in about an hour. Do you want to help the crew set everything up?"

Jordan nodded excitedly, molding herself into the hand the photographer placed between her shoulders. The action didn't go unnoticed, but Santana chose to brush it off, rationalizing it with the thought that they were simply developing a comfortable mentor/student relationship.

Halfway through the shoot, the studio's phone rang, and Jordan tore across the wooden floors, sliding to a stop before clearing her throat, lifting the receiver, and happily answering. "Good morning, Santana Lopez's office. How can I help you?" The photographer in question looked over her shoulder when she heard nothing more than that, and caught Jordan staring at her wide-eyed. The girl finally broke from her trance, waving the woman over hurriedly. Passing off her camera to one of the crew members, she ran across the room as her intern had moments before pulling the phone from between the girl's fingers. When she brought the receiver to her ear, she was met with body wrenching sobs, and her heart cracked open. She could feel her wife's anguish coursing through her own veins, though she didn't know what was happening.

"Britt? Britt, baby, what's going on? You have to talk to me sweetheart. Please talk to me." She was holding in her own tears, her right hand steadily running through the top of her hair.

"I'm bleeding," was all she managed to choke out, and the pain coursing through the brunette's veins ran cold, freezing.

"Get in a cab, and go to the hospital now Britt." Her mind was racing, flying to the furthest reaches of the world of negative consequence, but her voice was strong and unwavering. Only one of them was allowed to break down at a time, and Brittany had rightfully claimed that title. "I will meet you there."

"I'm in a cab," she whispered, fighting against the sobs wracking her body. "I'm on my way." The driver caught sight of her tear stained cheeks, removing a hand from the wheel to offer it to her through the partition as they pulled to a stop at a red light. The blonde gripped his hand with more force than expected, with no intention of letting go.

"I love you," Santana murmured in response. "I love you, and everything will be fine. I promise."

"Don't make promises you don't know you can keep." Brittany's words were harsh, easily cutting through her wife. She was terrified, and refused to do anything more than prepare herself for the worst.

Fighting against the blonde's feeling weeks ago that something was wrong, the photographer took in a deep breath before repeating her words. "Everything will be fine. _I promise_."

Hanging up the phone, Santana took a settling breath before turning to her intern whose green eyes were wide with worry. "Jordan, take the camera from Joe." She gestured to the bearded man behind her who still had a stronghold on her Canon, awaiting further instruction. While respectful, Santana was nothing if not authoritative with her crew, and they all stood stock still, poised and ready for action. "You're going to finish this shoot," she said quietly, squeezing one of Jordan's shoulders. "I trust you. Now take a minute, compose yourself, and finish this up for me. When you're done, lock the memory card in the safe in my office, and lock up the studio." Her words were firm and sure, but the flickering of her eyes as she wrote out the combination to the safe gave her away, as did the redness slowly building around her eyelashes when she folded the paper and pressed it into the younger woman's hand. She reached into the bottom drawer of the reception desk, pulling out a spare key. When Santana rose again to her full height, she squared her shoulders and took another unsteady breath.

"Get to Brittany. We'll be okay here," Jordan whispered, squeezing her boss' hand gently, sounding far more confident that she genuinely was. Santana nodded once to her intern and once more to herself before grabbing her purse and keys, walking out to her Jeep with angry tears prickling at her eyes. _Why us?_

* * *

"Brittany Susan Lopez-Pierce," Santana barked as she came to a stop in front of the nurses' station.

"Room 238," the woman replied with no more than a slight glance up. The photographer's mouth fell open, surprised the nurse had the number memorized, but before she could formulate words to question the occurrence, she was interrupted.

"Your wife told us that, and I quote," her voice changed as she mimicked Brittany's, "_the most beautiful Latina on the planet will come barreling through the doors, demanding answers_, and that we'd better have them prepared for you or else - "

"I'll go all Lima Heights, yes," Santana grinned momentarily before refocusing. "So, room 238?" she questioned, receiving a nod and a finger indicating that she needed to take the doors to her left. Her heartbeat slowed, dangerously close to stopping as she reached for the doorknob, unable to grip the cool metal and push. She wasn't sure what would meet her on the other side of the thick door, and she wasn't feeling strong enough just yet to face the distinct possibility that once she'd stepped through the threshold, she might no longer be an expectant mother. The idea was far too much for her to handle, and the adrenaline she'd been running on was fading fast. She briefly considered running back to the cafeteria and getting a coffee, something to keep her shaking hands occupied, but she quickly realized that her wife was just past the door she was resolutely staring at - her wife that she'd promised the world to, and her wife who might be far more broken than Santana could possibly imagine in her more terrifying nightmares. She owed it to herself, the beautiful blonde just ten feet away, and the child she so desperately prayed was still safe and sound. With that, her hand gripped the doorknob fiercely and she eased it open slowly, preparing herself for the worst.

Coming around the edge of the door, however, she found Brittany sleeping soundly, albeit hooked up to what seemed to be a hundred different machines. There was a band around her stomach, an IV drip in her left arm, as well as blood pressure cuff and multiple pads stuck on places around her chest. Seeing her wife so seemingly fragile nearly broke her, but she resolved to hold back the tears so desperately piercing her eyelids.

She sank onto the bed, careful not to upset any of the lines attached to Brittany, and took the blonde's hand in her own, gently tracing the lines in her palm as she took slow, calming breaths. Blue eyes fluttered open, darting around before landing on her wife's face, and a wan smile crossed her features.

"Hey beautiful," Santana whispered, brushing a few rebellious strands away from freckled cheeks. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," she replied, just as quietly. "Baby is - "

"Our little one is just fine," a booming voice came from the doorway. Dr. Jameson walked over to the couple, placing a warm hand on Brittany's shoulder. "We had a bit of a scare there, but we have no reason to believe that the bleeding was anything serious, given that most women have some spotting, if not what seems to be full blown cycles while pregnant." The brunette scrunched her eyebrow in confusion, but nodded, continuing to listen. "There was very little blood loss and only slight cramping, so I believe we're out of the woods with this. We are, however, a little concerned about her blood pressure, because it was a bit high when she'd come in for her last appointment as well. We're going to keep her here overnight for observation, and she'll have a week or two of strict bed rest."

Santana nodded a few times, trying to clear her head from the panic she'd been running on for the past half hour. Brittany, however, was pouting as she listened to the doctor's instructions.

"Bed rest? As in I cannot do anything, at all, whatsoever?"

"That's basically the idea," Dr. Jameson teased, flashing a cheeky grin. "I'll come in a bit later and check up on you ladies again before I leave for the night. Santana, make sure she stays in that bed," he said with a wink as he walked out the door.

"Clearly not going anywhere," Brittany huffed, gesturing to the various wires attached to her body. She sunk back into the pillows, placing her hands over her eyes and groaning. "I can't do this. I can't do nothing for _two weeks_."

"Yes, you can," Santana murmured, cupping her cheek, and pressing their lips together. "And when you feel like you can't, just remember that you're doing this for our baby. She's depending on you for everything Britt. You've got to keep her healthy, and safe, and right now, that involves you taking it easy for a while."

The blonde sniffed back a few tears, nodding, but her lips tugged slightly, into the barest traces of a smile. "We still don't know if it's a girl honey."

"Only my daughter would cause this much trouble while still in the womb Britt-Britt. Trust me, it's a girl."

* * *

A soft knock sounded at the door and an even softer _hey _came with it as Quinn entered the room, laden with a tray of coffee and a small brown bag. "Chocolate mocha, extra shot," she grinned as she handed her friend the drink. "You sounded like you needed it."

"Thanks Q," Santana whispered, trying not wake her wife, who'd fallen back asleep not long after Dr. Jameson had left.

Rustling in the bag, she pulled out two sandwiches and a small white box. The brunette gingerly lifted the lid and saw the red velvet cupcakes Brittany had been craving throughout the majority of her second trimester thus far.

"Gimme," she heard from behind her, and she turned to see her wife, heavy eyed, wiggling her fingers as if she could telepathically will them toward her.

Santana handed one to the blonde, teasingly pulling it back every time Brittany would nearly grab it, finally giving in when the pout won out. "_Now _you're awake. I get it," she teased.

Quinn giggled as she took a sip of her chai tea, before clearing her throat and setting the drink down on the arm of the couch. "So how is my favorite future god child?"

"You're _only _future god child is just fine, but her mother isn't pleased right now." Both women turned towards Brittany who was happily licking the icing off of her fingers as she bounced slightly in bed.

"She _looks _pretty pleased with herself," Quinn quipped, earning a glare from the blonde in bed, who immediately stopped fidgeting as if to prove a point. "The bed rest will fly by Britt. You'll be back to teaching your classes in no time." She flashed a reassuring smile towards her friend who barely mimicked the expression. They sat around eating quietly, with Brittany falling back asleep not long after, her hand resting just above the band on her stomach.

"I got you two something," Quinn finally said, sure that the other blonde was truly sleeping. "I know you've been stressing out about this pregnancy a lot, and apparently Britt is too." She eyed the blood pressure cuff attached the slumbering dancer before digging through her over-sized hand bag, and pulling out a cardboard box, nudging Santana's hand with it. Taking her keys, the brunette cut through the tape around the edges, taking the machine out, a confusion expression clouding her features. "It's a fetal Doppler. You can listen to the heartbeat at home," she said quietly, accompanied by a shy, but proud smile. "I thought it might help."

Santana looked up to her friend, with the tears she'd been fighting since this morning leaking down her cheeks, settling into the corners of her mouth, which were pulled back as she grinned bashfully. "Thank you Q," she barely whispered out, throwing her arms around the blonde in front of her. "I don't know how I'd do this without you."

* * *

**AN: Shaking things up a little bit, because we should know by now that these two don't do anything the easy way. Holly and April should be making appearances in the next few chapters, as will Puck I believe. If there is anything else you'd like to see, let me know.**

And to my lovely Guest - Jealous Brittany _will _be making an appearance as well. The story line is in the works, and while you may not exactly like who it involves, trust me when I say I have a reason for all that I do. Haha. :) All things have foundation somewhere, even if you haven't seen the cracks in the foundation yet.  



	6. Chapter 6: You're Not Alone

"Okay, so we've got The Kids are All Right, Baby Mama, and every season of The L Word." Brittany nodded approvingly, before a slight frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. Santana pulled the last DVD box from behind her back, where it was tucked in her waistband. "And," she dragged the word out, "Lady and the Tramp. I didn't forget." The blonde's features instantly brightened as her wife placed a short peck on the tip of her nose. "I have to run a few errands, but I should be back early this afternoon. Call if you want me to pick anything up before I come home." She pressed down another kiss, this time to Brittany's lips, before settling the laptop just underneath the dancer's belly bump and heading out of the front door.

Not paying attention to her pathway, she heard shattering glass, and looking down, saw that she'd turned over a vase of wildflowers identical to the ones she'd received the morning before. Glad she hadn't locked the door, she gathered the bouquet and placed them on the counter before grabbing a broom and proceeding to sweep up the glass covering the hallway's floor. This time, however, there was an envelope accompanying the delivery, and she pulled it from the shards before tossing them into the trash can.

_You make a beautiful couple _was written in painstakingly precise cursive, and flipping the piece of paper over, she found a photograph from the hospital, with Santana fast asleep, her head leaning onto the mattress and her hand grasping Brittany's tightly. She couldn't fight the shiver that ran down her spine, but shoved the note into her purse when she heard her wife call for her.

"I just forgot my keys babe! I'll see you later; I love you," she called back as nonchalantly as she could manage, trying to keep her voice from wavering. Santana felt as though she was on high alert, constantly second guessing the actions of every person she came into contact with. The person in front of her in the Starbucks drive thru had paid for her mocha, and upon pulling into traffic on the side of him, she flashed a withering glare his way, attempting to deduce his intentions. Later that morning, an elderly man held open the door for her, and she barely mumbled a thank you before scurrying through the double doors and avoiding eye contact.

Her paranoia only furthered when she went to pick up their dry cleaning before stopping at the studio, having found that it was already paid for, and was to be delivered to her apartment that afternoon. Brittany never remembered their dry cleaning, so her orchestrating that was far from believable, but were the blonde to question it, Santana would simply say that it was her doing. Given her high blood pressure and bed rest, the brunette refused to allow anything, particularly something potentially insignificant, to worry her wife. When she made her way into the studio, she allowed the minimalist decor to sooth her ravaged body, and retrieving the memory card from her safe, settled down in front of the computer to make choices on the previous day's head shots. She clicked through them quickly, getting a feel for the set, and was admittedly surprised that she couldn't find where her shots ended and Jordan's began. Deleting a few with awkward angles or half-shut eyelids, she began further debating the final five the model would have selection from, jotting notes on a napkin she'd found in her desk drawer.

"That's my favorite." Santana's heart jumped into her throat, but she soon relaxed, realizing the voice she'd heard was that of her intern.

"You need to start wearing squeaky shoes or _something_," the photographer groaned. "You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days."

"I'm sorry LP. Totally not my intention." Santana turned over her shoulder, catching sparkling green eyes that held nothing but sincerity. "I really do like that one though," she reiterated, pointing to the shot still maximized on the computer. Mocha eyes focused on the photo, adjusting the lighting only slightly before dragging it to the empty folder she'd labeled for the final cuts. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and a wide grin tickled her cheeks as Baby Mama flashed across her screen.

"Hey Britt. Did you need something sweetheart?"

"How did you know I wanted Chinese?" the blonde chirped in response. Santana could hear the slight slurp of what she was sure were the thick noodles her wife always insisted upon ordering. "I was sitting in bed, watching Lady and the Tramp, and when it came to the spaghetti scene, I started really craving noodles, but Chinese noodles, not Italian noodles."

The brunette chuckled lightly, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. "Just a feeling B." She pressed her fingers to her pulse point, feeling the muscle fight dedicatedly against her pressure. When she allowed her hands to drop to her lap, she glanced down and saw slight movements in her button down as her pulse continued to race. "Do you want me to pick anything up on my way home? I'll be out of the studio in a bit."

"Can you just make me a smoothie when you get here?" She paused, fiddling her tongue behind her teeth. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all Britt-Britt. I'll see you soon." Her cheeks flushed slightly before she continued. "I love you."

"I love you too Santana," the blonde returned, her voice a perfected mixture of sincerity, gratitude, and radiated happiness. Hanging up the phone, she allowed the warmth of her wife's voice to wash over her, cocooning her temporarily in a semblance of safety.

* * *

She'd managed to forget about the photograph she'd found tucked in the bouquet of flowers entirely until her doorbell rang that afternoon, showing a tall, gangly high school kid holding her dry cleaning. She swiftly opened the door, grabbing her things and roughly barking out a thank you. When she spun back around, her wife stood just outside of their bedroom door, her hand nestled underneath her growing stomach and a look of sheer bewilderment across her features.

"Why'd you have the dry cleaning delivered? You usually just pick it up."

Santana's voice stalled in her throat as she whipped through her mind's eyes for something that resembled legitimate logic. "I thought I had a shoot scheduled today, and I wasn't sure I'd have time to grab it." She hated lying to Brittany. They'd promised long ago, before proposals and "I do's" and the baby talk that they would never lie. The feeling landed uncomfortably in her gut, and try as she might, she couldn't brush the guilt away.

"Was it so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?" she questioned, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I just wanted to get all of the errands done today," she said sheepishly, hoping her weak explanation would hold in the Brittany Lopez-Pierce Court of Domestic Law.

The blonde thankfully seemed satisfied and shrugged, placing her cup on the kitchen counter and turning back around to retreat to the bedroom once more. "Do you wanna come snuggle? I'm about to start The Kids are All Right." Santana nodded quickly, feeling some of the tension drain from her frame immediately as her hand was grasped by her wife's and she was tugged insistently toward their bed.

She flopped into the pillows, a wide smile settling into her cheeks at hearing the blonde's laughter. She put both of her arms into the air, wiggling her fingers in anticipation. Brittany's hands flew to her mouth, muffling her giggles before she crawled into bed after her wife, snuggling in between the brunette's legs as Santana leaned back into the pillows. Switching DVDs and pressing play, their limbs and digits intertwined, hands resting against the top of the blonde's bump.

"I love you," Brittany murmured, tilting her head backward to press into the brunette's lips.

"I love you too," Santana whispered back, leaning in to glide her mouth across her wife's forehead, relishing in the slightly sweeter taste of her skin, be it from the copious amount of sugar she'd been consuming, or the sheer glow she exuded due to the tiny being growing just beneath her fingertips. The pair nestled into the pillows, molding into one another, and sighing contentedly. For the next one hundred and six minutes, not a thought fluttered through Santana's mind unrelated to the movie, the warmth of her wife's body, or the intoxicating citrus scent flooding her senses.

* * *

Later that night, Santana slipped out of bed, grasping her phone tightly in her right hand as she made her way as silently as possible into the kitchen, hoping not to wake Brittany, who'd made it through her first day of bed rest like a champ. She stuck a mug of water into the microwave, sure to cut it off before the beeping could permeate the still air of their loft before dropping a tea bag into the now nearly boiling liquid. Tugging up and down on the string, she swirled the contents around in her cup, staring at the phone resting on their counter and willing herself to pick it up. A short knock on the door caught her attention instead though, and she inched toward the sound, simultaneously keeping her ears perked for sounds of her wife rousing in the next room. Lifting onto the tips of her toes, she peered through the peep hole, but found no one, promptly deciding to return to her tea. She'd barely lifted the mug to her lips before another knock came, this time much stronger, and mocha eyes settled on short blonde hair and an arched eyebrow this time. Unlocking the door, her gaze flitted to the canister in Quinn's hands.

"Fabray, if you're planning on trying to eat my face, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"You're not my type," she replied cheekily, extending the container of lavender bath salts to the brunette. "And I didn't come bearing gifts," she continued, albeit a bit more somberly. "I got a creepy, anonymous text that said '_She can't protect her forever_,' and came right over to check on you both. Then I find this outside, with _this _note on top of it." She handed Santana a torn piece of paper, with the same precise cursive writing.

The brunette's lips ran over the words several times before reading it out loud, as if vocalizing the note would make it even the slightest bit more comprehendible. "But she can always try? What the hell does that mean?"

"Fuck if I know, Nancy Drew. It was on _your _doorstep, not mine."

Santana worried her bottom lip between her teeth, placing the piece of paper on the counter and squeezing her cup tightly between her hands. She sighed, dropping her head onto her chest, barely mumbling out her next words. "I was actually about to call you about this." After years of friendship, Quinn had thankfully managed to learn how to interpret the brunette's murmurs, and simply arched an eyebrow, encouraging Santana to continue. "Have you ever heard of like, a _nice _stalker?"

"Like the serial cuddler? He seemed pretty sweet." The photographer glared at her friend over the rim of her mug, and the blonde shrugged in response. "He'd break into houses to clean everything and then cuddle with the women. If someone was going to break into my apartment, they'd be more than welcome to do my dishes."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Santana rolled her eyes. "I'm serious Q. Someone is friendly stalking me. I didn't think that was a thing." She took a long sip of her tea, hoping it would calm her shaking limbs. Allowing the thoughts to run rampant through her head over the past few days and actually admitting her concerns out loud resided on two entirely different levels. "They send flowers, pay for my dry cleaning, send photographs of Britt and I saying we're a beautiful couple. I just - " Her shoulders sagged, as if the weight of the situation had settled into her bones. "I don't know what to do. They aren't hurting anyone, but it doesn't mean it isn't weird."

"Call Puck," the blonde finally suggested. "See if he'll come and stay with you guys for a few days and keep an eye on Britt when you can't."

Santana nodded, but faltered for a second. "I can't ask Puck." She gingerly set her tea mug onto the counter, preparing for the explosion she knew to expect. "Britt doesn't know anything. And before you start yelling," she managed to interject, "please remember that the woman in question is pleasantly sleeping fifteen or so feet away."

Santana could practically see Quinn lowering her voice in the twitches of her throat muscles, but her hazel eyes hadn't lost a fleck of the fire blazing within. "Why does she know nothing?" she whispered, her teeth gritted to contain her anger.

"Perhaps it's the fact that she is known to worry for the feelings of the inanimate objects she bumps into. Or maybe, just maybe, it's because she was admitted into the hospital, has dangerously high blood pressure, and is carrying my entire heart in her uterus? Any stress and she could lose our baby Q, and if that happens, I lose her too. I refuse to lose either of them, much less both, because I'm being a pussy and letting some demented fucking Santa Claus rattle my cage." It wasn't until she stopped speaking that realized her chest was heaving and tears were pouring down her cheeks. "I can't tell her Quinn. I can't."

The blonde nodded slightly, her own eyes glistening around the edges with unshed tears. "You're not alone in this," she whispered, pulling the sobbing brunette to her chest and running her fingers through dark mussed locks. "We'll figure this out together." She felt Santana nod against her shoulder, fisting Quinn's t-shirt tightly in quivering hands.

* * *

**AN: I wanted to get a chapter out to you guys for this weekend, because I don't know how much I'll be able to write in the coming week. My first wave of tests begins Monday, and I have three, if not four next week, so my writing time will be significantly cut shorter. I will do my best, but I can't guarantee an update before next weekend, which I'm apologizing in advance for.**

**I want to thank everyone for the truly overwhelming response to this story thus far. I know I had a solid fan base with All Over Me, but I wasn't sure how many of you would carry over. I am honestly so thankful for all of the kind words and encouragement, and I appreciate every follow, favorite, and review. You guys are wonderful, really and truly. :)**

**With that said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to have another up for you soon, despite the insanity that is my course load. Haha. - A**


	7. Chapter 7: You Did Good Lopez

The days following presented themselves in the same way they had been. Every morning Santana would wake up to wildflowers on their doorstep, and she had managed to convince Brittany that they were more than likely being delivered to the wrong apartment. It had taken nearly a half an hour to reassure the blonde that it was impossible for them to call the florist and inform them of the issue seeing as there was never a card with the delivery, and eventually, the dancer gave in, settling back into bed with a huff. Santana knew her wife was going stir crazy due to the lethal combination of having to stay almost completely sedentary, and as a result, not being able to touch or be touched, which was, quite frankly enough, driving them both toward the brink of insanity. Brittany, during one of her more eccentric, _I-need-out-of-this-bed_, moments, had constructed a list of things the brunette did that turned her on. Santana did her best to hold in laughter upon seeing numbers twenty three and forty seven, which read breathing and existing respectively. She would have been lying had she not echoed the sentiment, because pregnancy _really _suited her wife. Her hands and skin had become impossibly softer, her glow was becoming more prominent, and her body, once taut with muscle, had molded into curves that Santana was finding increasingly difficult to keep her hands off of.

Slipping back into their apartment after running downstairs to check the mail, she flipped through the stack of envelopes in her hand after placing the morning's flower delivery on the counter, throwing out the bouquet from the day before. Her ears caught the lightest hints of Brittany's humming from the bathroom, and a subconscious grin etched itself into her cheeks. Tossing several bills onto the counter to be opened later, the last envelope caught her eye, and she let out an unsettling breath before tucking a finger underneath the corner and ripping the top open. She slipped two sheets of folded paper out, one a gift certificate to a spa not far from their apartment and the second a perfectly penned note, in the cursive she'd come to despise upon sight.

_Talk to her doctor about it first, but you both need to relax._

Rolling her eyes at the person's believed understanding of their relationship dynamic, she tore the sheet of paper multiple times before tossing it in the trash, slipping the coupon into her back pocket and following the sound of her wife singing. Silently moving through their bedroom, she peeked around the edge of the door, watching as Brittany steadily hummed a tune as she applied copious amounts of lotion to her stomach, tracing shapes into the skin of her belly. She'd only just woken up, but her beauty was incomparable as she stood, completely vulnerable in their en suite, focused entirely on the swell beneath her breasts.

"Almost ready?" Santana finally said in a low tone, hoping not to startle the blonde. They were due for a checkup after the hospitalization, and in the event that Brittany's blood pressure was back in normal ranges and everything else looked good, she would be removed from bed rest. She walked into the bathroom, leaning back against the counter to fully appreciate her wife's form as the dancer continued her morning rituals. "You smell different," she commented, taking in the distinctly new scent of her wife's skin. "Is that - " Santana leaned forward again, laughing as the blonde smacked her away. "Lavender?"

Brittany nodded, not ceasing her actions as she pulled a brush through her hair. "I found the container of bath salts on the counter last week. It really helped me destress this morning. Thank you sweetheart. You're the best." She planted a firm kiss to the brunette's cheek before heading toward their closet to get dressed for the appointment, but the smell of her skin, and the shiver that accompanied it, clung to Santana's bones long after her wife had walked away.

* * *

Brittany didn't flinch when the blue gel hit her stomach later that morning, her fingers tightly wound around her wife's. Melissa had run through her vitals quickly, brushing strands of hair out of the blonde's widened, panicked eyes before leaving her to change in the exam room. Dr. Jameson's voice cut through the thickening silence, an air of caution tinting his words as he moved the wand across her abdomen.

"Any residual bleeding?" Brittany shook her head. "Pain?" Her head bobbed back and forth again. She caught sight of the man smiling faintly. "Any complaints at all?"

"I'm sick of laying in bed and doing absolutely nothing all day," she grumbled. "Other than that, I'm great."

"Well, our little one seems to be just fine, on track with expected growth - about four inches - and if Mom is fine - "

"No more bed rest?" Brittany exclaimed, jolting his hand against her stomach.

"You are officially in the clear Mrs. Lopez-Pierce." The collective sigh the couple let out provoked a deep throated chuckle from their doctor, and Santana squeezed the blonde's hand once in a strong combination of relief and excitement. Incessantly worrying about her wife and unborn child was something that no longer had to take priority on her to-do list, allowing her to focus her efforts on what could now be deemed more pressing issues. "I'd recommend refraining from anything that could be considered strenuous by any stretch of the imagination for the next week, but otherwise, you're more than welcome to go about your days as you did normally. Try and stick to the toddler classes you've been teaching, and if there is an advanced class you have to give, make sure to have an assistant." Brittany nodded happily, unable to wipe the beaming grin from her cheeks. She tightened her grip on her wife's hand momentarily, bouncing her feet in the stirrups enthusiastically. Swiping a towel across her stomach, he smiled softly at the couple who were exchanging silent _I love you_'s, before removing his gloves and tossing them into the trash can nearest the door. "We'll set up another appointment in five or so weeks, so long as we don't have more," he cleared his throat, "_excitement_. If you two decide you want to know the sex, we should be able to determine that then."

Exchanging a look, the pair turned back to him before replying in sync. "It's a girl."

Clearing his throat, his eyes flickered between both women. "Until the ultrasound, we have no way of knowing for sure."

Santana laughed, her palm immediately flying to her lips to stifle her giggles. "Trust me Dr. J. It's a girl." He simply shook his head, echoing the brunette's laughter before turning toward the door to allow Brittany to change.

"Actually, Dr. Jameson?" The blonde's voice echoed through the quiet room, and the man turned, arching an eyebrow, with her large hand still cupping the doorknob. "Speaking of sex - " she trailed off, a light flush covering her freckled cheeks.

"Technically considered strenuous," he lamented, his own face falling as he saw his patient pout. "Give it a few more days ladies, just to be safe."

"And Dr. Jameson?" He smiled good naturedly, nodding in Santana's direction. "Prenatal massages?"

"Brittany's well into her second trimester, so that should be fine. I wouldn't push it further than a half hour though, to air on the side of caution." The brunette returned his nod as he exited the exam room, slipping the gift certificate out of her back pocket and into her wife's lap. She was met with a beaming smile and repeated thanks as Brittany pressed insistent kisses to every portion of Santana's face she could reach.

* * *

Hearing the reassuring double beep as she locked her car, the sound sending butterflies through her chest as she thought back to the steady thumping of her unborn child's heart, she rounded the corner, hand tangled with her wife's. She focused on the buzzing between their fingers as they made their way up the sidewalk to the front door of their apartment building, only to be jolted from the film of warmth cocooning them by a honking horn to their left.

"Get in losers. We're going shopping." A lopsided grin crossed Brittany's features as she settled into the backseat, Santana's hand firm on her back as the brunette glared at their best friend. "I've got a surprise for you tonight, and you both," she pointed over her shoulder at the couple, "need new dresses."

If at all possible, Brittany's excitement multiplied and she bounced gently in her seat several times, her grin not faltering as she curled into her wife's side, drawing shapes into the fabric of Santana's jeans. Slipping an arm around the dancer's waist, the brunette shot a grateful smile in Quinn's direction through the rear view mirror. The blonde nodded slightly, soaking in the change in her best friend's body language. Only a few days prior, the tension was painfully evident in her demeanor - furrowed eyebrows, hunched shoulders, and clenched fists - but now it seemed as though nothing and no one could shake the brunette's confidence. A small smile tugged permanently at her cheeks, her shoulders rolled back and her torso relaxed as she fixated a devoted gaze at the blonde tucked into her body.

"You two were made for each other," Quinn murmured under her breath as she switched on her blinker, pulling into the parking lot of the mall.

* * *

_The satins of their dresses rustled against one another as they spun slowly in circles, every exposed piece of skin searing against the warmth of the body in the other's arms. Santana slowly brushed their lips together for what could have been the thousandth time thus far in their reception, twirling the baby hairs at the back of Brittany's neck around her pointer finger. She felt the blonde smile into the kiss and a tug came immediately after, twitching the corners of her own mouth. Pulling away slowly, Santana buried her face into her _wife's _neck as she heard the clinking of silverware against one of the champagne flutes._

_"Hi," she heard in a breathy voice, thankful that Puck was not trying to give yet another embarrassing speech. "My name is Quinn, our beautiful couple's maid of honor. I was meant to give a speech earlier this evening, but as you can imagine, I've been having a bit of trouble figuring out what to say to the two women I'm lucky enough to call my best friends." She took a settling breath, one hand gripping her glass, the other tightly clinging to Rachel's fingers. "What Brittany and Santana have is what so many spend their entire lives searching for. There is an indescribable magic in the way they look at one another, something that can't be pinned down, that you've probably experienced if you've been in the room with them for more than five minutes." A low rumble of laughter echoed through the reception hall, several patrons nodding their heads in agreement. "I first saw them as a couple almost five years ago, and I knew from the moment I laid eyes on them, tucked into one another in the wings of our high school's auditorium that they would make it this far. I just never imagined I would get to be a part of it." She dropped her champagne glass, pressing her hand against her chest while swallowing back the engorged lump in her throat. She nodded her head toward the still intertwined couple on the dance floor before finishing, the weight of the impending tears crushing her chest. "Those two were made for each other."_

_Puck raised his own glass, encouraging the rest of the room to do the same and removing the attention from the tears now streaming down Quinn's face as she shot him a grateful smile._

* * *

Exiting the dressing room, Brittany was met with identical expressions, both wide eyed and open mouthed. Her brow scrunched momentarily, and she fidgeted with the hem of the dress she had tried on before rolling her eyes when her wife and best friend said nothing, and turning toward the mirror behind her. She tugged at every spare inch of fabric she could lay her hands on, twisting to look at herself from all angles before she began weeping quietly, seemingly out of nowhere. Santana flew into action, wrapping her arms around the shaking woman and cooing softly into her ear before pulling away to deduce the cause of her spontaneous breakdown. Wiping the tears away with the palms of her hands, she tilted her head toward her wife, her words soft and tone low. "Britt, baby, what's wrong?"

The blonde took in a resounding breath before breaking down again, her words muffled and jumbled and nearly incoherent. Santana's gaze met Quinn's, the panic evident in both hazel and chocolate eyes, before Brittany straightened up, rubbing at her cheeks roughly and tugging herself from her wife's arms to stare at herself in the mirror once more. "Nothing fits right," she whimpered.

The brunette felt the weight lift from her chest, thankful she hadn't managed to unknowingly send her wife into an emotional tail spin. "Sweetheart, you're pregnant."

"But I don't even look pregnant. I just look pudgy," she continued, her eyes downcast at her barely visible baby bump, a few stray tears escaping from behind her eyelashes.

Santana looked to Quinn, hoping for reassurance, but was met with raised eyebrows and a shrug that clearly stated _you're her wife, you handle it. _"Britt," the brunette whispered, placing her hands on either side of the slightly protruding stomach, "I promise you that when people see you, they know you're pregnant. It doesn't matter how big or small your stomach is, because the way you walk, with your hand tucked under your bump and a glow that rivals all of the stars in the sky, is evidence enough." The blonde's whimpering had softened, and she nodded. "And do you want to know something else?" She nodded once more, the lightest traces of a smile tugging at her cheeks. "_I _know you're pregnant, and not because of the way you glow, or how your stomach is rounding every day, or because of how soft your skin is becoming, but because I can feel in my heart that I've never loved you more than I do _right now_. So we're going to buy this dress, because you look stunning, and we're gonna go with Quinn to our surprise tonight, and we're going to have an amazing time, okay?"

With a slight flush playing background to her freckles, Brittany nodded again. "Okay." She leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on her wife's lips before turning back to the dressing room and shutting the door quietly behind her.

Quinn feigned a slow clap before pressing her hand to heart and pretending to swoon, earning her a swift slap to the bicep and a halfhearted scowl. She quickly wrapped an arm around Santana's shoulders, pulling the woman closer to her, and whispering. "You did good Lopez. You did real good."

* * *

**AN: Okay, okay, I lied. I found a little extra time during my school day to write this chapter up, but I'm (kind of) serious when I say that this is probably going to be the last update until this weekend. I have tests Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, in addition to all of my other assignments. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, though admittedly it's on the shorter side. We have some special guests making an appearance next chapter. :)**

**And as always, if you've got any suggestions, criticism, etc., don't hesitate to let me know. - A**


	8. Chapter 8: Hatched By Two Chicks

Looking up at the brightly lit sign that stood out against the rapidly darkening sky, Santana quirked an eyebrow in Quinn's direction. "We only come here to celebrate," she murmured, eyeing the outside of the restaurant. "What gives Lucy Q? Did you finally get laid by someone over five foot - because I consider that reason to celebrate." Brittany smack her arm lightly, unable, however, to muffle her laughter.

"Can't I just take my two best friends out to dinner?" Quinn retorted, ignoring the brunette's insult and managing to keep the edge of frustration in her tone limited.

Santana scoffed, her eyebrow traveling upward again. "No."

"Always the skeptic sweet cheeks." She and Brittany exchanged a look before turning on the spot and being engulfed in warm arms. The brunette felt that distinct feeling of comfort flooding her frame - the one she'd searched for for almost six years. Overshadowing that, only moments later, was a feeling of weightlessness as she was picked up and spun in the air. Smacking broad shoulders, she squealed, fighting to be placed back down. Brittany received similar treatment, though her feet stayed firmly planted on the sidewalk.

"And why was she not turned into a human helicopter?" Santana griped teasingly.

Hazel eyes flickered to the right where Holly had one hand cupping her daughter's cheek, the other resting lighting on her abdomen. "She's carrying precious cargo," he shrugged. "When you're carrying my next niece or nephew, _then _I'll treat you like the delicate flower I know you aren't."

Grinning, she wrapped her arms around the man's waist again, sinking into the embrace. "I missed you Puck."

"Missed you too sis," he mumbled into the top of her hair.

"Come on ladies and gentleman and as of yet undetermined fetal grandchild," Holly called out, ushering everyone forward before gripping Santana's elbow and tugging her backward. "How is she doing?" Her tone was low and wavering, something uncommon for the blonde who usually spoke with confident vibrato.

"Officially off of bed rest, blood pressure is down, and no residual bleeding or pain," she replied just as quietly, running through her mental checklist.

"Emotionally?" Holly queried, not entirely satisfied with a simple run down of her daughter's physical health.

"Good, really good," Santana murmured in response, chancing a glance over her shoulder. Chocolate eyes focused on a glowing blonde, eyes bright with laughter as she leaned into Puck's side, her hand clutching the very bottom of her stomach. It was a habit she'd fallen into as her abdomen expanded, and the brunette couldn't help but find the motion endearing. "She cries a little more, but she's only freaked out that one time."

Holly nodded, stifling a giggle. "The Great Cupcake Debacle, I remember."

She echoed her mother in law's laughter before her face fell as she furrowed her brow, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm doing everything I can to take care of her Holl, just like I promised I would. I refuse to let anything happen to either of them."

"I know sweet cheeks, I know." The blonde's eyes were brimming with tears as she pulled the woman into her arms, squeezing once before whispering out a third, "I know." Pulling away, they both dissolved into second round of chuckles, wiping at the corners of their eyes before turning back toward the group, who was still waiting patiently by the door.

A flash of worry crossed behind Brittany's eyes, dimming them slightly. Pressing a kiss to her forehead and another to her lips, the brunette ran a solitary digit between her eyebrows, down the bridge of her nose, whereupon she tapped the freckled tip, sending a soft smile to cover the blonde's now flushed cheeks. "I love you."

Twisting her lips to the side, Brittany echoed the sentiment, linking their fingers and following their family through the doors of the restaurant.

* * *

A strong knock at the door roused Santana from the haze she'd settled into, cooking what could have honestly been considered a small banquet for her wife and their mothers, all three of whom were still fast asleep. Opening the door, she ushered Puck in, shushing him as soon as he set foot into the loft, inquiring as to why there were flowers on her doorstep. She leaned back out, retrieving the bouquet and looking up to meet familiar green eyes clouded in confusion.

"Did those _just _get delivered? I sent them when you gave me the internship, like as a thank you."

Santana's heart dropped into her feet, and she quietly shut her front door behind her, approaching the young woman who'd just reached the top of the stair well. "You've been sending these?"

"You make it sound like I've sent you flowers every day or something," Jordan laughed. "It was just one bouquet to say thank you, like I said." Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she tilted her head to the left, carefully scrutinizing her boss. "LP, _have_ you been getting these every day?" Santana shrugged, then nodded in resignation, leaning back against the wall of the hallway. Pulling her lips to the side thoughtfully, Jordan let out a _hmph_of surprise before shrugging as well. "Maybe the florist messed up?" she offered. "Like, they keep sending the same bouquet?"

"One of them had a card though, so - "

"I didn't send a card. I didn't figure it was necessary, you know?" She paused before gesturing to the door at the end of the hall. "Well, I'm going meet up with some friends of mine, so I'll see you at work I guess." The tension in the hallway was palpable, and the younger woman was quick to try and escape it.

Following the cocked thumb that indicated apartment C, the third loft on her floor, Santana nodded. "Zoe and Jack?"

"Yeah, Zoe and I have been friends since we were in elementary school, and Jack dated my older sister for a while, so - " She trailed off, unsure of how to finish the conversation and walk away without seeming rude.

Realizing she was quickly stepping into dangerous territory professionally and that she was no less confused as to the origin of the floral deliveries, Santana plastered on a wide smile, nodding again before waving and slipping back into the safety of her home, tossing the flowers into the trash. She leaned against the counter, resting both forearms against the cool marble and hanging her head down to try and clear some of the buzzing between her ears. She kept a steady loop of _the florist just messed up _bouncing in her brain, hoping it would calm her nerves somewhat to have a logical explanation to at least once portion of this labyrinthine puzzle.

"So you gonna let me know what the fuck is going on?" The deep voice broke through her mental broken record and she looked up to see hazel eyes flickering across her face as if trying to deduce something from her facial expressions. Checking over her shoulder, she saw all three bedroom doors still shut, and the breakfast she'd worked on spread out across five plates. Turning to see her brother's eyes still swimming in concern, she pressed a hand to his shoulder, leading him toward the dining room table and grabbing her cup of coffee on the way. She settled into a dining room chair, tucking her knees around her chest and gripping her mug tightly in her fingers. She started at the beginning, trying to keep her version of the story as unconvoluted as possible, but knowing that it couldn't have made much sense to Puck when living it, it made little sense to her.

"What does Britt have to say about all of this?" he finally questioned once she'd laid out the situation as completely as she could manage.

"Britt doesn't know," she murmured, expecting an outburst similar to the one she'd experienced with Quinn. Instead Puck simply nodded a few times, allowing the gears in his mind to click around a few times.

"Do you think it's intern chick?"

Santana's eyes widened slightly before narrowing, and she shook her head. "No, I don't. I really don't. She's always seemed really excited about the baby, so I don't see why she would."

"Maybe that's exactly _why _she would. She wants to build a relationship with you, and doesn't know how to go about it, so she is trying to do it anonymously." He shrugged, slipping his hands around his sister's and teasing away her cup of coffee, which he surprisingly managed with little fight on her part. "Or maybe some creeper in the apartment complex wants to freak you out - like that Andy dude," he practically spit out, a grimace crossing his features.

Santana tilted her head to the left, cooing at her brother. "Puck's jealous," she sing songed.

"I am not," he protested.

"You're not what?" Brittany yawned from behind them, rubbing at her eyes before settling into her wife's lap.

"Jealous of Andy," Santana smirked.

"Oh, you totally are."

"I am not!" Puck exclaimed, dropping his face into his hands.

"Jealous of cutie pie neighbor boy?" Holly mumbled as she and April walked into the kitchen. "You are sweet cheeks. Accept it and move on." He groaned, dropping his hands and resting his forehead on the edge of the table. A knock on the door distracted all four women, and Puck let out a sigh of relief until realizing Quinn would be on the other side of the solid wood.

They heard her key slipping into the door as no one had moved yet, and the blonde twisted inside, kicking off her shoes and tossing her purse on top of the side table before swiftly moving towards her friends and pulling them each in for a hug. "I'm sorry I'm late," she murmured into Brittany's hair as she pulled away. "Rory caught me in the hallway and forced me to catch imaginary butterflies with her." Holly and April grinned as the mohawked man let out another disgruntled breath against the dining room table. "Hey Puck." He tossed his hand up in greeting, not moving from his position, still practically curled into himself. "So, brunch?" she queried, trying to alleviate some of the tension building, allowing a relieved sigh to escape her lips when the others nodded, heading back toward the stacks of pancakes and mountain of bacon.

* * *

"It's so cute!"

"Look how little!"

Brittany's gaze traveled from her mother to April, tears collecting in the crinkles around her eyes, her smile wide. "You two didn't have to do this," she mumbled, sinking into Santana's embrace when her wife wrapped warm arms around her.

"It's pink." Puck's deep voice echoed over the shrills of the females in the room, and all five women turned around to send him a collective glare. "My nephew isn't wearing pink."

"Who said you're getting a nephew?" Santana shot back, her words lacking their usual bite as she fingered the tiny piece of clothing her wife had held up to her belly.

"You don't know the sex yet," he grumbled, clearly unhappy being outnumbered.

"It's a girl." The simultaneous response of the other women in the room had him walking out of the room, tail between his legs as they continued to coo over the _Hatched by Two Chicks _onesie the mothers had bought while out to pick up lunch earlier that day. Santana and Brittany had agreed to hold off on buying clothing for a few more weeks, until the gender could be legitimately confirmed, and had avoided buying anything for the nursery given that in two months, Quinn had decided she'd be throwing them a small baby shower. Puck had offered Santana a diaper party, which was apparently the male equivalent, but that idea was quickly vetoed, and April was forcing him to attend the originally planned get together.

"Yo sis, your neighbors are going at it outside. I can hear them from the living room."

The brunette furrowed her brow in confusion, given that the only other people on their floor were Andy and Rory, and Zoe and Jack's family down the hall. Neither were particularly loud, so the best guess she had was that Andy's ex-girlfriend had come to stir up trouble. Moving toward the door, the voices were muffled, but both distinctly female, and she had no intention of eavesdropping until she heard her intern's name screeched.

"Jordan, this is fucking _bullshit_, do you hear me?"

"You can't tell me who I can and cannot hang out with Zoe. You're not my mother."

"Damn straight I'm not," the girl yelled, despite Jordan's calm tone. "I actually stuck around through all of your shit and didn't leave you when your sister got herself blown up."

The silence in the hallway was palpable, and Santana immediately felt guilt rise up in her gut. She shouldn't, by any stretch of the imagination, be listening, but she couldn't tear herself away. _Cross the line if someone you love has passed away. _The words flashed across her eyes, sinking into her stomach with the pit that currently sat there.

"Fuck you Zoe," the other girl spat out, her words broken, but sure.

"She's never going to replace Emily. You know that, don't you? And Jack can't bring her back. You're lying to yourself if you think that dyke cares about you." The words splayed across the insides of Santana's eyelids were erased, replaced with a film of red-hot indignation. "And the fact that they're having a baby? That poor child should be taken away from them. It's disgusting." The brunette felt a hand press into the small of her back, and she turned to see Brittany listening as well, the tears of excitement now replaced with those of anger. "Didn't you say she almost lost the baby? It's a shame she - "

The next moments were a haze as Santana flew into autopilot. She heard the sickening crunch of knuckles against bone and a strangled cry in response. She threw the door open, grabbing hold of Jordan who had Zoe pinned against the wall, her arms flying back and reconnecting with every inch of the other girl's body she could get purchase of. Santana wrapped her arms tightly around her intern's waist, tugging the girl backward and into her apartment, repeating, on a steady loop, "It's just me." Jordan continued to struggle until the door shut behind them, when she seemed to lose all the fight she'd been building, and collapsed into her boss's arms, sobs wracking her body.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered once her cries had quieted. "I just got so angry. You're going to be a great mom LP." Santana simply nodded against the girl's head, murmuring out a thank you and continuing to run her hand up and down Jordan's back. Brittany looked on in adoration, her anger having quickly dissipated. It was rare to see such affection from her wife, particularly for someone she hadn't known for long, and the scene tugged at the blonde's heartstrings. "She shouldn't have said those things. She's just mad at me, and taking it out on you both."

Santana's thoughts flashed back to her neighbor's words, feeling the weight filtered into her stomach once more. "I do care about you, you know," she murmured, pulling away from the younger woman slightly and tilting Jordan's chin up to catch her eyes. "I care enough to ask about Emily," she said quietly, thankful that her family had chosen to stay in the dining room, leaving her and Brittany with her intern, who'd let to truly catch her breath. "Who is she?"

Jordan slid out of Santana's grip, leaning against the counter and nervously tapping her fingertips against the top of her thighs. Santana mimicked her position against the kitchen's island, leaving enough room, she hoped, for the girl to remain comfortable. "She was my sister." Brittany silently moved around the two, settling a tea kettle on the stove and listening on without seeming to be engaged. "She died in Iraq, just after finding out she was pregnant."

The photographer's eyes widened visibly and she let out a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry Jordan."

"She was a POW, and a few months following her escape, she figured out that it wasn't just the long days and constant stress that had made her late," she said, a low chuckle following her words. "She was raped when she was taken prisoner, and she called home one night to tell all of us." Arms tucked tightly around her body, she continued, her voice steadily becoming more confident in contrast to her body language. "Jack was waiting for her. She was supposed to be sent home within the next week, to go back to post and work a desk job until her maternity leave was used up. They were going to raise the baby together, despite everything." Santana nodded a few times, encouraging her to continue. "An IED took out her humvee a few days before she was due to fly home."

"The girl in your portfolio," Brittany breathed out.

"Yeah, that was my big sister," she said quietly, a small smile playing on her cheeks, before her expression darkened once more. "Zoe seems to think that I'm trying to replace her with you, and she's jealous that I spend most of my time in the studio or with Jack," she shrugged, attempting to seem nonchalant. "He's the only one who'll talk about her though, you know? My mom left, and my dad just checked out after that. It's like having a piece of her that stays alive."

Santana nodded, tears brimming in her eyes, thinking back to her numerous trips to the graveyard alone, and the one time she found a seventeen year old Brittany holding a conversation with her parents' tomb stones as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Wiggling her fingers at her side, she beckoned her wife over, grateful when a soft hand slipped into her own, squeezing gently.

"LP?" The brunette looked back up, leaning into Brittany's side but devoting her attention fully to the girl still shaking slightly in her kitchen. "Who did you lose? Cross the Line, you know?"

Taking in a deep breath, she released the air and the tension in her chest before speaking. "My parents died in a car crash when I was eleven. I was in and out of foster care until almost my eighteenth birthday."

"And then?" The focus of the conversation had shifted dramatically, but the sparkle returning to the previously dimmed green eyes prodded Santana to continue.

"One of the most incredible women I've ever known took me in, and gave me the first home I'd had in almost seven years." She felt Brittany nudge her shoulder and give her a knowing look. "Mama, you might as well come on in. I'm sure you all have been listening right outside of the door," she laughed.

Within seconds, April wrapped the brunette tightly in her arms, tears teasing at the laugh lines around her eyes. When she was finally able to pull away, she presented each member of her rag tag family unit, and invited Jordan to join them for lunch. Quinn had watched as each person was greeted in turn, and when she herself was introduced, she scrutinized the young woman, searching for a sign that she'd known of Quinn previously. The blonde found nothing but sincerity in the bright eyes locking on her own.

"I don't think it's her," she whispered as she passed her best friend on the way to the dining room.

"I know it's not," Santana returned easily. "I just don't know who it is."

* * *

The shiver that ran up Brittany's spine sent vibrations through the plump lips currently attached to her neck, not ceasing their motions despite her attempts at wiggling away. "Stop," she hissed, trying to hold in laughter.

Pressing herself up and swinging a leg over to straddle the blonde's hips, Santana leaned dangerously close to her wife's ear, allowing her short breaths to provoke goosebumps across the exposed milky white skin. "Doesn't seem like you want me to," she murmured, reattaching her mouth to the jutted collarbone nearest her.

"No sex, Santana," Brittany managed between labored breaths.

Pulling away and sitting back on her calves, she tilted her head to the side, a look of playful innocence coloring her cheeks. "You think I'm trying to sleep with you? Give me some credit. I would never intentionally sedu - " Her words were caught in her throat when a crash sounded from the living room. Puck and Quinn were both asleep on the couch there, having had entirely too much wine, and her overprotective instincts kicked in immediately.

"Santana, no!"

"Britt, stay here. Do _not _move. If you hear me call for you, call 911, okay?"

"What's going - "

"I'll explain everything later," she pleaded. "Just don't leave this room. Please, just stay here." The blonde finally nodded, pulling her wife in for a searing kiss before allowing the photographer to venture into the hallway. She heard another crash and quickened her movements, flailing in the dark until her eyes fell upon a wide eyed Quinn, watching Puck with a strange combination of awe and fear. Twisting to follow her gaze, she could barely make out her brother's figure in the shadows, forearm pressed against someone's throat as he pinned the person to the wall.

* * *

**AN: Yes, yes, cliff hanger. I'm sorry my updates haven't been as frequent, so here is a longer chapter for you beautiful readers. And for my guest, who said the stalker was Jordan? Do you really think I'd make things that obvious? Haha.**

**I'll try and work some more this weekend on chapter nine, but I'm making no promises. I do still have two papers to write, and another test early next week, but hopefully after that, I'll have a little more free time as far as my writing goes for this. :) Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Comments, criticism, suggestions all welcomed.**


	9. Chapter 9: Butt Buddies

_I missed her. She wasn't ever around anymore. She was being taken from me._

The police officers were still talking to Puck when she made her way back into the bedroom, finding a wide eyed blonde sitting on their bed with her knees tucked as closely as she could manage to her chest. Brittany was staring into the distance, eyes bleary and unfocused, and the red tinging her cheeks meant she'd been crying for a while. Her gaze shifted as her wife entered the room, complete with an apologetic expression and slumped body language.

"Why didn't you tell me something was going on?" she choked out, her voice low and raspy. "We tell each other everything." Her words sent a pang straight through her wife's breast bone, sinking and digging into her heart.

_I just wanted our time back, she was the only thing I had left._

Santana sighed, running her fingers through her hair before hesitantly moving toward the bed and perching on the edge of the mattress. Twisting, she faced the blonde head on, grabbing both of her hands tightly and sighing in relief when Brittany interlaced their fingers and allowed her knees to drop to the side. The stance was significantly less defensive, and the brunette was more thankful than she could have expressed in that moment for the small gesture.

"I didn't want you to worry," she whispered. "I didn't want you to have to worry. You didn't need anymore stress."

_They were taking her from me, so I had to make it believable._

"I'm stronger than that Santana." Her words were sharp, hitting hard and cracking the thin veil of bravado the brunette possessed.

"I know." She shook her head, loose tears escaping her tightly clenched eyelids. "You're the strongest person I know Britt-Britt." She shifted, watery mocha eyes locking on guarded blue. "I'm sorry." She dropped her focus again to their hands, gingerly rubbing her thumbs back and forth against the soft skin lying just beneath them. "Are you angry with me?"

_I didn't want to hurt or scare anyone, I just wanted her back._

"I'm furious," the blonde muttered, but she didn't disconnect their linked digits, nor did she truly sound as if she was angry. "You could have been hurt Santana." The brunette's gaze immediately flicked upward, and she saw tears settling into the laugh lines around her wife's eyes. "I can't do this without you," she whispered, detaching one hand and settling it on top of her stomach. "What if I had lost you?"

"You're never going to lose me Britt."

"I've almost lost you before." Santana knew her wife was right, and there was no use trying to refute the fact. Early on, all those years ago, she had run as fast as she could manage in the opposite direction, clinging futilely to the thought that the blonde deserved more, that she deserved better. However, Brittany's performance brought her back that night, and she made a promise to untie her laces and give up running for good.

Cupping both of the blonde's cheeks, Santana locked their eyes, willing her sincerity to flow straight from her heart into her wife's. "Stuck with me forever, remember?" She brushed their lips together slowly before pulling away and pressing a single kiss to Brittany's forehead. "I promise."

* * *

"I'm not pressing charges." Those words were the first four she'd spoken, as she stared straight into dark grey eyes, ignoring the handcuffs chaining him to the table.

"Thank you Santana, I - "

She smirked before speaking again, effectively interrupting the man across the wooden table. "Oh no, I'm not finished. I'm not pressing charges if you answer all of my questions. That doesn't mean I won't consider a restraining order." She leaned back in the chair, folding her arms across her chest and cocking her head to the side, as if she were considering him. "You fucked with my family, and that doesn't sit well with me. So what's it going to be Jack? Do you wanna make butt buddies with your own personal big daddy, or do you want to give me the answers I want?" The man stayed silent, and Santana rolled her eyes. She took in a deep breath, recrossing her legs at the knee before leaning forward, her gaze withering as she placed her elbows on the table, locking her hands together. "Since you're not feeling particularly communicative, I'm gonna let you know how this is going to go down. You're going to answer every question I have truthfully. Nod once if you understand." Begrudgingly, and not without a distinct hint of fear in his eyes, Jack nodded. "Once you do that, you're going to get released from this place, assuming my wife hasn't decided you ought to rot in the pen for a few nights, and when you do finally get to leave, you're going to call Jordan, apologize for being the biggest jackass on the planet, and never speak to her again, comprende?"

He nodded again before protesting. "I already told the police everything."

"Well that's fine and fucking wonderful," she said with a grin, "but I wasn't here. I want these answers for me, personally, and this has no impact on your case."

"Then I'm not answering," he replied, proud of himself for finding a loop hole.

"That's cute," Santana simpered. "You think if you don't answer, you get to go home. I'm going to give you a rude reality check as to how we do things where I'm from. My brother is on the other side of that two-way mirror. He's the one who had you pinned up against my living room wall after you broke in. Now, turns out that he used to run in the same circles as the chief of police here in Chicago, and we're allowed to keep you handcuffed to this here table until you decide you want to play story time." His eyes widened, and her smirk grew in nearly the same manner. "So, you've got three choices _Jackie_. Numero uno, you fess up to all the crazy you've got swirling around in that head of yours right now. Dos, we sit here and twiddle our thumbs until you start sharing with the class. Or tres, you head on into the state penitentiary, share a cell with someone who'll nickname you Finger Puppet, after Auntie Snix here beats you to a pulp, given that _conveniently _enough the security cameras in this room don't work. Your choice compadre."

The young man bowed his head, flicking his thumb nails against once another before letting out a sigh of exasperation. "I wanted you to fire Jordan." Santana simply quirked an eyebrow, silently encouraging him to continue. "I lost the girl I loved, and the child I didn't even know I'd ever wanted in one day, and I was losing the only connection I had to either of them. She spent all of her time in your studio, and when we were together, all she talked about was you and your wife and how excited she was you two were having a baby."

"So you decided to friendly stalk me?"

He barked out a laugh at her use of words, but eventually nodded. "I didn't want to hurt you guys, but I figured I could make it look like Jordan did it, and you'd get freaked and fire her."

Santana mulled over his words for a few moments, unable to fully comprehend his method of actions, but understanding enough of his, albeit insane, protectiveness. "Where did you get the picture of Brittany and I?"

"Stole a roll of film out of her purse that night," he shrugged.

He knew were she lived, there was only one dry cleaner in their neighborhood, and everything else could have easily been linked to Jordan. She needed the last piece of the puzzle however, before she felt satisfied enough to walk out of the interrogation room. "And how did you get my best friend's phone number?"

He grinned, and the pride in his features sent a shiver down the brunette's spine. "My mom teaches at Northwestern. I broke into her office and got Quinn's number out of the school's electronic filing system. I heard you mention her to Andy once or twice."

"That's impossible," she scoffed. "Quinn isn't even her real name."

His voice lifted a few octaves, imitating Santana's with remarkable accuracy. "_You're telling me Lucy Q_." Her mouth dropped open and he laughed. "I was in the cafe that day when you two were there, getting coffee. You're incredibly easy to figure out, you know." His nonchalance was off putting to say the least, and she was steadily growing more uncomfortable with the idea of his living down the hallway once again.

She nodded once, scraping her chair back against the linoleum and rising to walk to the door, which buzzed, allowing her to twist the handle and crack it open before she turned back to face the young man across the table. "I lied, by the way. I hope you have a good few years in prison Jack. I'll send Jordan your love."

She shut the door behind her, leaning against the wall and releasing a breath she hadn't known she was holding in, despite the pain radiating in her chest. She pressed the heel of her hand into her breast bone, hoping the pressure would ease her shaking limbs as she fought her hardest not to break down once again. Eyes tightly shut, she only managed to begin taking regular breaths when she felt the firmness of Brittany's body against her own, hands settled into her hair and on her lower back and her words soft and lilting.

"It's over sweetheart," she murmured into dark hair. "You don't have to protect us anymore."

Not deterred in the least by the flurry of negative emotions rushing through her, Santana managed to let out a laugh, causing her wife to pull back, studying the brunette's face intently. "I'll spend the rest of my life protecting both of you silly." She ran her thumbs over the now expanding freckled cheeks as Brittany let a shy smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

"Why didn't you ask why he was in the loft?" Puck's low tone echoed in the room, pulling Santana's attention away from her wife, and back into room she'd just exited.

"I didn't want that mental image," she stated simply, as though it were obvious. "If he was planning on hurting Brittany, I don't want to know about it. It would be all I could focus on, and I have much happier things to concern myself with," she murmured, slipping back into the comfortable bubble of warmth he'd pulled her from as she tenderly cupped her wife's stomach. "Let's go home," she whispered, much more to the blonde than to her brother, lacing their fingers, and tugging Puck around the waist.

* * *

It was early morning when they made it back into the confines of the apartment, and two blondes and a brunette were already sitting around the dining table clutching their respective cups of coffee.

"The pot is still warm," Quinn murmured, stifling a yawn as she leaned into her hand, elbow resting on the wood. "Figured you two would want a pick-me-up."

"I kind of just want a nap," Santana mumbled, placing her hand over her mouth to cover her own yawn. She nestled into her wife's side, swaying sleepily.

The two mothers at the table exchanged a look before nodding. "We'll wake you up in a few hours," Holly decided. "You both need it. We don't fly out until tonight, so we'll have plenty of time for an early dinner before we leave." Both halves of the couple nodded as Puck settled into a place at the table, relaying what happened at the police station with Quinn filling in any details he didn't know about from before his arrival.

Both women still clad in sweatpants and t-shirts flopped onto the bed, wriggling their bodies up toward their pillows before slipping under the covers and molding into one another. Santana's left arm automatically wrapped around her wife, resting low on her stomach. She let out another yawn before jumping in surprise, leaving room between her and the blonde still curled up beneath the comforter.

Brittany chuckled, nuzzling backward once more and taking Santana's hand, placing it in the precise spot it had been before. "It happened earlier this morning," she whispered, a lazy smile coloring her features. "when you were interrogating Jack. I think she likes when you get all protective." The brunette was silent, processing the miniscule motions beneath her palm, so light they were almost unnoticeable.

"How does it - " she swallowed, a lump of emotion catching her words in her throat. "How does it feel?"

Giggling, Brittany shrugged in her wife's embrace, scrunching her brow for an accurate depiction of the feeling. "Kind of like the butterflies I get when I kiss you," she finally determined. "A lot like that, but different too."

Santana, tears flowing freely, pressed a kiss to her wife's shoulder, and moved her body impossibly closer to the blonde's, intent on not moving her hand a millimeter. They lay in comfortable silence for a while, before the brunette found her voice again, albeit in nothing more than a whisper. "I still give you butterflies?"

"Yep," Brittany remarked proudly. "You have since I first saw you, and I don't see that changing anytime soon." She felt Santana smirk against her shoulder, and happily listened to her steady breathing, hoping to grasp her next question before the photographer would fall asleep. Her voice was quiet, almost child-like in fashion when she finally spoke up. "Do I still give you butterflies?"

"Every day Britt-Britt," Santana murmured sleepily. "Every day."

* * *

**AN: I know this is a shorter chapter, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, and I had a bit of spare time today to churn out some writing. I'm trying to write as often as I can, which admittedly isn't often, but I should be ending my other long-running fic soon, so I'll be able to dedicate myself fully to this one.**

**Let me know what you think. :) I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll send another one your way as soon as I can, time allowing.**


	10. Chapter 10: Read the Damn Note

The warmth filtered in through the curtains, wrapping both women in open arms, and making it that much more difficult for Santana to pull herself from the sheets and the gently snoring blonde beneath them. Deciding that reality could wait, she remained cocooned in the web of safety the past three days had afforded them, despite the silence of the house every morning and the familiar sting of watching their family walk through the security gates of the airport. She nuzzled herself into Brittany's back, relishing in the familiar hum of contentment as her hands slid across her bare stomach. As the weather warmed, the blonde's ambient temperature did as well, and she'd taken to sleeping practically naked, though by no stretch of imagination did Santana mind.

Their lives were settling back into a comfortable normalcy, something the brunette hadn't realized she'd craved, and she often shook her head, envisioning how her fifteen year old self would scoff at her desire for domesticity and routine. With that thought, she snapped her eyes shut and opened them just as quickly, hoping to remember that morning, hold tightly to the strings of its memory for every morning to come, before she silently slipped out of bed, shutting the door behind her and padding into the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes a little, urging her body into a productive consciousness and ran her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to tame it slightly. Opening the fridge to pull out an assortment of fruit and the large container of Greek yogurt Brittany had begged for, goose bumps encompassed her exposed skin, and she slammed the door shut quickly, trying to escape the temperature change.

She hummed absentmindedly, something she'd heard on the radio earlier that week as she steadily moved across the kitchen counter, layering her ingredients into the blonde's favorite bowl - a duck shaped one that had made the trip from Ohio when they first moved into the loft all those years ago. She subconsciously licked a dollop of the yogurt off of her pointer finger, scrunching her face in disgust. _Still freaking nasty_.

Meandering back into the bedroom, she felt her breath catch in her throat as her eyes roamed the expanse of blonde hair splayed across charcoal sheets, the freckles dotting every spare inch of her skin, and the soft curl of her mouth at the corners that so perfectly mimicked the curve of her hips. After almost seven years, Santana still needed these moments - moments that allowed the gravity of her love to crash into her, overwhelming her heart, as she stared down at the closest thing to perfection she'd ever had the pleasure of being allowed to love.

"If you take a picture, it'll last longer." Brittany's words were as sleepily husky as was her smile lazy. She slowly fluttered her eyelashes open, squinting slightly against the sun until Santana moved, blocking the direct light, and grinning down at her. She gestured to the breakfast on the side table before pressing a long _good-morning-you're-beautiful-and-I-can't-fathom-why-you're-mine _kiss to puffy lips, tracing the blonde's cheek bone with the pad of her thumb.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she murmured, still fighting her incapability of pulling herself away from the over warmed skin and brilliant blue eyes. Brittany nodded once, settling her bowl into her lap and taking a bite, dedicatedly licking every fleck of yogurt off of her spoon. She looked up, their gazes locking, and saw a smirk cross her wife's face temporarily before she shook her head. "You aren't allowed to do that, and before you play coy, you _know _why you aren't allowed to do that." She huffed, feeling her sexual frustration bubble up once more, and stood to take her shower, which was now going to have to be practically Arctic if she were to make it through the day.

"Sorry," Brittany sing songed, happily continuing to eat her breakfast, still paying meticulous detail to the leftover yogurt on her spoon after every bite.

"Not sorry," her wife griped, shooting a half hearted glare over her shoulder. She switched only the cold water on once she'd made her way into the bathroom, pulling a towel from the cabinet under the sink and mentally preparing herself for the ice water torture she'd be subjecting herself to in just a moment. Stepping into the spray, she shivered, eyes tightly shut, but mentally willed herself to power through it until the water suddenly shifted, and she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a summer rain storm, comfortable heat flooding her body.

* * *

_"It's _pouring _Britt-Britt."_

_"And how exactly is that relevant to me wanting to go to the park and swing? Finals are over, and I want to celebrate!"_

_"Then let's go to a bar, make out so guys will buy us drinks, and then feel each other up on the dance floor." Brittany seemed to consider this option, her mouth pulled to the side and her brow furrowed in concentration._

_"But right now I_ really _want to go to the park baby." Santana immediately averted her gaze, knowing that the blonde's bottom lip had jutted out of its own accord and any will power she had would fly out of the window as soon as she made eye contact. Regardless of actually _seeing _the pout, the brunette felt the fight in her dwindling and she sighed, slumping her shoulders before meeting her girlfriend's eyes, and nodding._

_"Okay Britt, let's go."_

_She felt her arm immediately tugged, and her body followed, unfolding from the couch cushions and being whipped violently down the flights of stairs that led to their loft apartment. Once they'd made it to the sidewalk, Brittany pushed her against the brick wall, surging their lips together for a few seconds longer than would have been considered publicly appropriate. She pulled away, nearly breathless, before offering Santana a blinding smile._

_"Thank you," she murmured, reaching for the brunette's hand again._

_"I love you too," Santana grumbled, her frustration halfhearted at best, before she felt her body running past the buildings of their neighborhood, full speed ahead toward the park around the corner. Despite her strongest efforts at remaining stoic about the adventure, by the time they'd fallen into a heap on the soaking wet grass just in front of the swing sets, she was smiling so widely her cheeks felt as though they could crack, falling into a million pieces that would litter the ground with Brittany, Brittany, Brittany. She clutched her stomach, fighting against the ache there, as she couldn't keep herself from laughing until the blonde next to her rolled over, pinning her to the ground with a knee beside each of her hips._

_She cocked her head to the side, staring down at Santana with nothing short of complete adoration, and nervously tugged at the hem of the brunette's t-shirt that was plastered to her chest. "Promise me something?"_

_"Anything Britt."_

_"Promise that no matter how old we get, that we'll always stay this young."_

_Santana's face scrunched automatically, a telling sign that she was confused. "Baby, I'm not sure I understand." __She'd learned to pick her words more carefully in the past year because __the comments on Brittany's intelligence that she'd heard in their first year of college had affected her more than either of them had originally anticipated. Santana had then promised herself that she would never be one to make the blonde feel like she was any less than incredible in every way. "That doesn't make sense," would never be an option, nor would the words ridiculous or stupid. She'd promised to protect her, and that went further than actions. It didn't matter if she jumped in front of a car to save Brittany's life if she told her she were dumb for not checking both ways before crossing the street right after. "Try me again."_

_"I just want you to promise me that even if we have a mortgage and kids and a disgustingly tall pile of bills to pay every month that we'll still be like this - that we'll stay the way we've always been. You have to grow old, you don't have to grow up."_

_Santana couldn't fight the stupid grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, so she nodded. "I'll dance with you in the rain, and we'll play with our kids in the park. You'll still sing under your breath when you cook, and we'll watch Disney movies any time you want. We can have leftover pizza for breakfast and tickle fights on the couch and no amount of bills or responsibilities will change that." Brittany considered her girlfriend's words for a moment before reflecting the nod she'd been given and pressing their lips together._

_"Promise you won't ever stop kissing me either," she whispered._

_"All the mortgages in the world couldn't stop me," Santana grinned, pulling the blonde back down for another kiss as they lay soaking wet, being further pounded upon by the summer's first storm._

* * *

As she worked her hands through her hair, the lather falling down and around her body, she gave up on determining the change in temperature. Santana would hardly have considered herself an expert on the subject, but she had always been fairly certain that you could only run out of hot water, not_ cold_. The warmth she was enveloped in grew, and she shivered at the sudden heat shift again as she twisted around, rinsing the suds from her hair. Some of the soap floated down her chest, circling her breasts and dipping lower until falling from her hip bones, the path emblazoned on her skin searing. Opening her eyes, she was met with brilliant blue, crinkled at the edges. Looking down, she watched as the lightest of touches trailed down her torso again, Brittany's fingertip following the travels of the bubbles.

"Not fair Britt-Britt," Santana grumbled, twisting back around to reach her conditioner. "You can't interrupt my cold shower by getting in the shower with me - totally counterproductive."

Pulling the woman toward her and pressing the slick skin of the brunette's back against the swell of her stomach, Brittany slid her hand across her wife's taut stomach, relishing in the twitches beneath her palms. "And what if I'm just trying to help out?"

Fighting the moan tickling the back of her throat, Santana swallowed thickly before speaking. "Dr. Jameson said no helping."

"Dr. Jameson said to refrain from anything _strenuous _for a few more days. Direct quote," she stated plainly, almost as if they were discussing the weather. "We're past the few more days mark, and I can almost guarantee that you're so worked up," she murmured into the brunette's shoulder, placing a kiss there before gently biting at the skin, "that I won't have to do anything strenuous to have you shaking in my arms." Her hand slid easily across the water crested skin of her wife's abdomen, slipping between her thighs, and being met with a heat more powerful than that of the water coating them. "See?" she whispered. "You're about to fall apart already."

Santana's eyes rolled toward the back of her head and she leaned against the strength of Brittany's body - the strength that never seemed to fail her. She was almost embarrassingly worked up, but she dared anyone to sleep next to the blonde half naked for over a week without developing some sort of frustration complex. "I need you," she was barely able to whisper out, but those three breathy words were all her wife needed to slip into her.

With the firmness of Brittany behind her and dexterous fingers working between her legs, everything but the searing kisses placed to the back of her neck and the tightness ballooning in her stomach faded away until the water ran cold.

* * *

"Britt, come on. Quinn is threatening to order every appetizer on the menu and put it on my tab if we aren't there in fifteen minutes." She watched as the blonde frowned at her reflection, smoothing her shirt across her stomach again and again. Reaching into the closet. Santana pulled a lightweight blue cardigan from its hanger, slipping one of Brittany's arms through it before backing up to allow her to continue pulling it on herself. The ends hung slightly longer in the front, folding delicately over her bump. Brilliant eyes lit up, her preoccupation with ensuring her baby belly was on full display falling away quickly as she saw the fabric cling to the curves in her abdomen, highlighting it. "You look beautiful. Now let's go!" The blonde giggled when Santana smacked her butt, Brittany quickly seizing her wife's extended hand and pressing a kiss to her cheek. Before she could murmur a thank you however, she felt the brunette's muscles freeze against her lips. Untangling their fingers, Santana bent down to pick up the flower arrangement on the door step, promptly twisting around to shove the flowers in the trash can.

"Wait, there's a card!"

Wiping at the angry tears spilling over her cheeks, the photographer's words were hoarse and it seemed as though they were being pulled directly from her gut. She nearly choked on them, the effort it took to keep her words coherent clearly straining her throat. "I don't care about the damn card Brittany." The blonde stood stoically, eyes wide at her wife's outburst. "This shit was supposed to be over with."

The moment was frozen as the brunette's words lingered in the air, giving Brittany time to formulate a response her wife wasn't expecting. "You know what Santana?" The brunette flinched as the dancer had, unused to being addressed by her full name. "You really need to stop playing the victim. I know you're scared, because I am too. I can see it in your face and in your words and in how you tip toe around me like I might break, but it isn't fair for you to jump down my throat San." She let out a long breath, her hand automatically falling to her stomach. "I know you handled it on your own for all that time, and you were so brave protecting me and our child, but I'm in this now. Anything that happens from now on, I'm with you. You need me to let me be there for you. I'm your wife, and we're building a family - you have to let me be there." She inhaled sharply, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Please let me be there. Please don't shut me out. We can't keep living in fear. I refuse to keep living like this."

Santana's walls, which had automatically flown up as defenses, tumbled back down just as quickly. She hesitantly opened her arms and Brittany fell into them readily, giggling as they swayed slightly on the spot. She pressed her wife's hand to the underside of her swell where butterflies danced beneath her skin, the movements only slightly more noticeable than they'd been in days prior.

"I don't think she likes it when we fight, even now," Brittany murmured, her hand still covering her wife's. "I don't like it when we fight either."

The brunette nodded in agreement, before chuckling. "It wasn't even a full two minutes B."

"Worst two minutes of my day," she pouted. "So can we just read the _damn _note?"

Santana quirked an eyebrow at her wife, fighting a grin. "Smart ass." The sound of a whip echoed in her skull as with shaking fingers, she removed the card from where it was nestled into the wild flowers.

_S and B,  
I'm sorry for what I said in the hallway. I was angry with Jordan, and was trying to make her feel as hurt as I did. I didn't think of how it might hurt you both as well, so I wanted to apologize for my words. Your baby is lucky to have two moms that love them so much already.  
Zoe_

_P.S. I'm not sure you care to hear, but my mom checked Jack into an inpatient program for ninety days. When he gets out, he can appeal the length of his sentence, but he'll still be going to jail. I want to apologize for what he did to you both too; it must have been so scary._

_P.S.S If you need help with anything, please don't hesitate to knock. :) Especially babysitting, because I love babies!_

"That was sweet," Brittany murmured. "She didn't have to do that."

The brunette nodded absentmindedly before glancing at her watch. "Shit," she mumbled. "Quinn's probably ordered the entire menu by now." She dropped the card onto the counter, tangling her fingers with the blonde's as the two hurried down the stairs.

* * *

**AN: I have good news! As far as I can tell, I'm caught up, if not a bit ahead on my school work, so you beautiful readers should have another chapter up more quickly this time. I'd like to have another portion posted over the weekend if at all possible. :)**

As always, thank you for the kind words. You guys are wonderful with your reviews, and they mean the absolute world to me, so thank you. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and again, I hope to have some more up soon. 


	11. Chapter 11: Can We Get A Parakeet?

"Britt-Britt, you aren't a sixteen year old single mother who throws up blue slushie into her stepmother's urn," Santana giggled, watching her wife out of the corner of her eyes.

"Could we get a parakeet anyway?"

"No B." The blonde stopped her sputtering noises long enough for her wife to detect the beginnings of a pout. "No," the brunette repeated more firmly. "Keep playing with your Hot Wheels, because we _are not _getting a bird."

Brittany furrowed her brow but nodded sadly, grabbing another toy car and running it across her stomach, allowing it to drop off the other side and into the cushions of the couch. "What about a kitten?"

"I hate cats."

"But it's a _kitten_."

"Which will turn into a cat."

"A puppy?"

"So we can potty train two things at once?"

"A gerbil!"

"Absolutely not Britt."

"A snake?"

"It'll eat our baby." The blonde's mouth fell open and tears quickly began gathering in the corners of her widened eyes. "I was kidding sweetheart," Santana exclaimed, clambering to the other side of the couch and scooping her wife into her arms despite the miniature truck digging into her knee cap. "It wouldn't hurt the baby," she cooed, running her fingers through the top of the blonde's hair. "I wouldn't let it."

Brittany sniffled, nodding into the brunette's neck. "So can we get a snake?"

Santana pulled back, eyeing her wife readily. "No Britt."

"Iguana?"

"Play with your cars baby," the brunette murmured, crawling across to settle onto her side of the couch once again, retrieving her laptop from where it had fallen during her haste to comfort her wife moments prior. Brittany shifted uncomfortably on the other end, grumbling as she tried to find a position that allowed her to watch the television without ending the evening with a crick in her neck. As the months wore on, the summer heat combined with her expanding abdomen had the blonde in a near constant state of grouchiness, and it seemed, given that she couldn't find a comfortable position, that this afternoon was no exception. She let out a huff of frustration, and her pathetic pout tugged at the corner's of Santana's mouth.

"Come here, sweetheart," she whispered, opening her arms to her wife and waiting patiently as she struggled to scoot across the cushions. The brunette had found that the only solution was to allow Brittany to settle in between her legs, and the dancer had determined that her wife was "hands down the best pillow ever," so once more, her work would have to wait. Resting one hand on the blonde's now burgeoning six month bump, she reached behind them both to dip her hand into the glass of water she'd left on the side table. Her fingers found purchase on a small cube of ice and she gingerly ran it across Brittany's neck, ignoring her frozen fingertips in favor of focusing on the soft sighs of contentment her wife emitted. "Do you want to come with me to the airport?" she finally asked, having let the question bounce around in her head for the past few days.

"It's too hot to listen to her talk," the blonde grumbled. "Listening to her is exhausting, and it's going to make me sweat."

"What do you plan on doing until the baby shower? Locking her in the complex's basement?"

"Now that you mention it - "

"Britt," the brunette warned, "you said you wanted her to come."

"I'm pregnant. You shouldn't listen to anything I say," she retorted. "These baby hormones make me crazy." Santana hummed out a disgruntled noise, continuing the ice cube's path along her wife's neck and upper back, tracing letters into the glistening skin there. "She's staying in the guest room, right?" The brunette nodded, reaching over for another block of frozen water. "And our moms will be in the other room tomorrow? So once you pick her up, we'll be surrounded by people until Sunday, yeah?"

"Rachel comes in tonight. Our families will be here Friday, and the baby shower is Saturday, so yes," Santana reiterated, for what had been at least the fifth time that week.

Brittany twisted slightly in her arms, as best she could, wrapping her lips around the ice cube in between her wife's fingers and sucking it into her mouth before pressing their mouths together, leaving Santana breathless with the combination of the blonde's cool lips and warmed breath. Pulling away, she quirked an eyebrow before speaking. "How long until you have to pick her up?" she husked, her fingertips blazing a trail across the brunette's collarbone.

"Two hours." Santana's voice was a miraculous cross between a squeak and a moan, a sound she would have been wholly embarrassed by were she not so insanely turned on by the shift in conversation. "Why?" she managed, her voice shaky and her breaths already heaving as Brittany's free hand had settled dangerously high on her upper thigh. She was tip-toeing around what she hoped was a seduction, because once her wife had "popped," sex had been thrown off the table as quickly as they'd swiped away textbooks and half-written essays to utilize the table in college.

As frustrating as it was physically, given that the brunette had never seen her wife more beautiful than in the months of her pregnancy thus far, Santana was struggling more with the fact that without this key puzzle piece in the dynamic they'd had for years, she felt emotionally disconnected with Brittany. In moments when she was unable to contain the love she felt encompassing every fiber of her, she was lucky to receive a swift peck on the cheek, and though she'd managed to channel those feelings toward other avenues - back massages, elaborate dinners, and small surprises - she missed the innate intimacy that came with the physicality they shared.

"Why?" Brittany's voice lilted teasingly as her hand pressed more firmly into her wife's thigh. "Because I ate all of my lunch without complaining." Santana furrowed her brow, incapable of finding a connection as her body seemed to focus solely on the throbbing between her legs, and logical thought had gone out of the window. "And I want to cash in on the toy chest." The blonde flipped over with surprising agility, given the size of her stomach and her earlier problems with moving, and pressed their lips together again, stealing Santana's breath and only emphasizing the ache in the apex of her thighs. "I need you," she whispered between kisses, "to fuck me like you're the one who got me pregnant." The brunette's eyes were wide and all she managed were a few frantic nods. "Take me to bed."

Santana gingerly lifted her wife off of her lap and intertwined their fingers, tugging her gently towards their bedroom. Twirling her under her arm once, causing a set of giggles to burst from the blonde's once, she settled Brittany on the edge of the bed, bringing their mouths together once more before whispering a conspiratorially husky, "I'll be right back." Upon returning to their bedroom, Santana was met with a sight that caught her breath in her throat and she moved swiftly towards the queen sized bed, grasping both of her wife's hands, pinning them above her head as she hovered over her dangerously. "And what exactly did you think you were doing Mrs. Lopez-Pierce?"

"Getting ready for you," the blonde murmured, lifting up as best she could to gain purchase on her wife's lips, gasping as Santana's fingers moved teasingly between her legs.

"You did a pretty good job," the brunette husked in return, leaning over to press their mouths together again, frustrated only slightly by her inability to join their bodies entirely. "Turn over," she whispered against Brittany's lips. "On your knees." The blonde didn't hesitate to resituate herself, gasping when she was entered from behind, with Santana's breasts pressing into her lower back, hot, open mouthed kisses littering her spine as the brunette gripped her waist with each thrust. Brittany's arms were shaking, and it was only the strong caramel hands on her skin that were holding her up as she shook. It wasn't long before the blonde fell apart, a mess of quivering limbs and panted breaths. Pulling back carefully, Santana flipped her wife back over, settling Brittany onto her chest, stroking her hair gently.

"I love you," the brunette whispered.

"I love you too San," the dancer murmured in response. "Now shut up and cuddle with me until you have to leave."

* * *

"I'm apologizing now for any behavior I exhibit henceforth given the potentiality of awkward social interaction this weekend."

"In English please Berry. I only barely passed Obnoxious-Broadway-Starlet as a Second Language sophomore year."

"It's going to be weird, won't it? Having Puck, Andy, and I all at the shower?"

"Not unless you make it weird and start a Battle of the Bands in my living room to try and out-do one another in order to win Quinn's favor."

Rachel shifted uncomfortably in the passenger's seat, fiddling with her fingers in a rare moment of insecurity. "I miss her, you know?" she said in a low voice. "I haven't seen her since the break up."

Santana sat quietly for a moment, squeezing the steering wheel tightly before releasing her grip. "You really fucked her up, you know that right?" She took the silence as affirmation and decided to continue. "Andy could be good for her if we all let him. He's laidback and responsible and balances her unique brand of crazy pretty damn well. Let her be happy Rach – she deserves that from you. Don't push yourself on her. If she wants you, she'll come back to you."

Pulling into a place in front of the complex, Santana shifted into park and grabbed her purse to get out, but a small hand on her wrist tugged her back. "I want her to be happy."

"Then let her be. Simple as that."

* * *

Brittany reached to sneak her seventh petit four of the afternoon, giggling as Andy's eyes widened and Holly stifled her own laughter as bright blue orbs flickered between the man's incredulous expression and Santana's of amused disapproval. The brunette leaned forward, handing the plain white envelope she'd had tucked in her back pocket to her best friend. "Future godmother of my future kick ass infant, do you want to do the honors"

When going in for Brittan's twenty week checkup, they'd had Dr. Jameson write the sex of their baby on a single sheet of paper. The answer to everyone's burning question had remained locked tightly away in a kitchen drawer after Quinn had attempted multiple times to steal it, to no avail. The blonde slipped a finger under the seal, slowly ripping the paper open, despite the disgruntled groans around her. Tugging the slip out of its confines with shaky hands, Puck gave a resounding drum roll against the coffee table before barking "Out with it Lucy Q! Chick or dick?"

"Charming," Rachel muttered from her seat beside Santana, as Andy coughed awkwardly across from the pair of brunettes.

"It's a boy," she whispered, her face falling.

"Called it!" the mohawked man exclaimed, smacking the table once for emphasis, oblivious to the sullen female faces around him.

"Totally kidding," Quinn finally giggled out after several moments of tense silence. "It's a girl!" Her squeals were immediately echoed by the other women in the room, Zoe and Jordan included. "I just wanted to see Puck's expression." The face in question was screwed up in disappointment, muttering under his breath as April tried to simultaneously comfort him and conceal her own laughter.

* * *

"Andy, can you help Quinn and I set up the crib?" Santana called over her shoulder. It was later into the evening, and they'd finally managed to clean up the living room and move all of the presents into the spare room. April and Holly had, at the last minute, decided to rent a hotel room so the girls could begin moving things around in order to set up the nursery. With the previous issues in Brittany's pregnancy, they were all dedicated to having it finished early, on the off chance that she would go into labor prior to her due date.

"I'll help," Puck immediately exclaimed. "I _am_the godfather after all." Raising her eyebrows in amusement, Santana turned to Andy who mumbled something about picking Rory up before pressing a kiss to her cheek and waving awkwardly in Quinn's direction, whereupon she huffed in frustration, sending Puck a glare that could have melted the skin off of his face. Ignoring all four of them, Rachel began setting the crib's many pieces on the floor, arranging the dark wood by letters before standing up with her hands on her hips.

"I need a glass of wine."

"Can you get me one too Rach?" The nickname slipped through the blonde's lips before she could stop it, and once she took notice of the flub, both women flushed considerably.

"As much as I've enjoyed the high level of awkward tension today," Santana quipped from the doorway, leaning to one side to allow the smaller brunette to pass, "I'm going to go check on Britt."

Easing the door to the bedroom shut, she found the blonde curled up beneath their comforter, her brows creased. A thin film of sweat met her fingertips as Santana brushed the lines away. Brittany groaned slightly as her wife settled onto the edge of the bed, the crease between her tightly shut eyes reappearing.

"Britt," the brunette whispered, gently shaking her. "Baby, wake up." The blonde squinted more harshly before allowing her eyelids to flutter open. The blue orbs locked on mocha were duller that Santana had become accustomed to, and she felt nerves flood her frame. "Britt?" she whispered, grasping at one of her wife's hands.

"It hurts," was all that the dancer managed to get out before she was overwhelmed by hot tears.

"Oh baby," Santana cooed, feeling her heart wrench. "It's probably Braxton-Hicks contractions again. Do you want to take a warm bath and see if that will help?" Brittany nodded weakly, allowing her wife to pull her into a seated position, the comforter pooling around her. "Quinn," Santana screamed, her voice suddenly high pitched and wavering, despite the single syllable and her earlier soothing tone. A flushed face blonde appeared in the doorway, her eyes immediately widening. "Call an ambulance and help me pack a bag."

Puck appeared behind her not moments after, his face scrunched in confusion. "Did her water break?" His sister simply shook her head, pulling a few pairs of sweatpants from the dresser drawers as Quinn gave the complex's address to the dispatcher.

"Yes ma'am, a stretcher to the fifth floor. She won't be able to make it downstairs. Yes, thank you." She turned to her best friend who had paled considerably and seemed to be operating solely on fight or flight instinct and pure, unhinged adrenaline. "Five minutes," she said lowly. "Let's get you out of those clothes Britt."

The dancer nodded dumbly, allowing her wife and best friend to strip her of her clothing while Puck remained in the doorway, staring blankly at the red stained sheets, completely unable to avert his gaze from the now blood soaked bed covers.

* * *

**AN: Apologies for not having this up over the weekend as promised. I don't plan on dragging out the next update, because I know I left you guys with a really terrible cliffhanger. I'll have another chapter up as soon as possible dear ones. **


	12. Chapter 12: Little Miss Lopez-Pierce

Her legs shook beneath her as she struggled to stand, gripping the lukewarm coffee in quivering fingers. She'd been pacing for the past fifteen minutes, frustrated with the lack of news in regards to her wife's condition. "Sweetheart, come and sit." April's voice was gentle, wrapping her daughter in a temporary cocoon of safety. Santana, however, shook her head furiously, hoping the others in the waiting room would feign ignorance to the angry tears forming behind her eyelashes. She'd last seen Brittany when they'd taken her into surgery, in a vain attempt to control the bleeding. Riding in the ambulance, all she had managed to focus on were the blue eyes locked on her own, the sparkle there overwrought by the pain coursing through her frame. The blonde had one hand pressing into her stomach, as if willing their unborn child what little strength she had. The other gripped caramel fingers with a veracity the photographer was unused to. Santana spent the eight minute drive to the hospital gently stroking back her wife's hair, cooing words of reassurance that she knew fell short into unlistening ears. She'd watched as Brittany's complexion paled further, and only halted her affirmations to insist upon her wife receiving blood. She was then informed that there had been an accident on the interstate, and the blonde could only be allotted two pints once they arrived, as there were sixteen individuals brought in from the crash in the earlier hours of the day, and the hospital had found themselves in a shortage.

She'd spent her time pacing considering what they might have done to deserve their current predicament. Santana briefly considered it as a moment of karmic balancing, but dismissed the thought, because she couldn't fathom why Brittany and their child ought to be punished for her less than stellar interpersonal skills. She glanced back to Friday's _extracurricular _activities, but she had been gentle, and Dr. Jameson had given them an all clear in the sexual department, so she brushed that train of thought aside. She finally landed on the idea that perhaps she wasn't meant to have extended periods of happiness, given her penchant for screwing up all of the good things in her life pretty miraculously and her predisposition for attracting negative situations. She soon erased that hovering concern when she recounted the hundreds of thousands of minutes she'd spent with her wife, blissfully joyous. They'd had their fair share of bumps in the road of their relationship, but wholly, she knew she was blessed beyond blessed to wake up every morning next to her high school sweetheart. If someone had decided that Santana weren't meant to be happy, she would have never encountered the blonde who flipped her world upside down in sheer seconds. That couldn't be it either.

"Mrs. Lopez-Pierce?" Her head snapped up, and she took in a man of average height, his skin nearly as pale as Brittany's had been in the ambulance. His voice was soft when he spoke to her, but she did detect a higher than typical pitch, and a quick scan of his body language rang caps lock _gay. _

"Yes?" she whispered, willing her legs to remain sturdy beneath her in anticipation for his next words. Holly and April were by her side in an instant, both placing a warm hand against her back, allowing her weight to be supported by the only two true maternal figures she'd had since she was eleven.

"My name is Dr. Cooper. I'm currently your wife's attending." She took in a shaky breath, thankful for the first time since she'd set foot in the hospital that someone recognized her for what was, regardless of individual state law. "Brittany suffered from a placental abruption, and has consequently lost a significant amount of blood ma'am, I need to be upfront about that - three pints prior to admittance, and another two since she was administered her allocation." Holly's hand flew to her mouth, catching the sob she felt creeping from her chest. "That's nearly half of her supply, and it's a serious concern. We're contacting other surrounding hospitals, as well as trying to get in touch with the blood banks, to see if we can acquire additional supplies elsewhere, but it isn't looking good."

"Can we donate?" the gruff male voice behind her asked, pulling Santana from the cyclical thoughts she'd fallen into. "What is Britt's blood type?"

"She's A+" the brunette murmured to her brother, before the doctor had a chance to respond. "I'm universal, O+. If we can set it up, I'd like to donate immediately."

"Noah has the same blood type as Brittany," April added, trying to focus her efforts on something tangible, rather than the worry that seemed to be circulating throughout the hospital's air vents.

"Dr. Cooper, is there any way we can have this done?" Puck queried. "I'm not willing to stand around and watch her fade away. If we lose Britt, we lose Santana as well, and I'm not going to give up on either of them."

"I'll call in a few nurses, and we should be able to have you both set up within the next fifteen minutes," he replied, a little taken aback by the surge of support for the woman lying in the room behind her. "Now, Mrs. Lopez-Pierce," he continued, retrieving Santana from her thoughts once again, "I'll ask that they receive your donation first, because by the time you've finished, you should be able to see your baby girl."

In a momentary lapse of thought, she failed to comprehend his words, but once she had, she mentally berated herself for focusing on one of her girls, not both. "She's okay?" she whispered, clutching tightly to April's arm, willing her legs once again not to give out beneath her.

"A little small," he smiled, "but a fighter, just like both of her mothers it seems. Twenty nine weeks and two days, and she weighed in at three pounds and four ounces, which is surprising, given her age." His eyes scanned the brunette's face, taking in the awestruck expression and brimming tears, before patting her on the shoulder twice. "We'll discuss it in depth further once you've donated. The nurses are taking very good care of her, and she'll be in the NICU waiting for you when you've finished."

Despite her incessant pleading with her muscles, she dropped to the ground as he walked away, her body shaking in sobs. April immediately fell down next to her, wrapping Santana close to her chest and cooing into the top of her head. "It's okay sweetheart. They'll both be just fine."

"I know," she murmured, the slightest hint of a smile teasing at her lips. "They're both strong. It's just – " she shifted her gaze toward the warm hazel eyes bearing down on her in concern, waiting for her next words. "I'm a mom," she breathed out in barely a whisper. Switching her focus once more, she took in Holly, whose arms were still crossed tightly across her chest. "And you're both grandmothers." Santana stood slowly, extending her hand to April, helping her upward, before tugging both women into her arms. "I love you, so much," she managed, before being escorted away by a nurse in mint green scrubs, Puck trailing behind her dutifully, his hand pressed to her lower back.

* * *

There were only two other infants in the NICU when the brunette entered, her hands still shaking and her head slightly dizzy from giving blood. She watched from the threshold as a nurse scuttled around, checking vitals on the three children fast asleep, shielded from the world by six thin walls of plastic. Taking in a settling breath, she made the first step into the room, immediately garnering the attention of the attending nurse, who smiled at her brightly.

"Which is yours?" she grinned, gesturing amongst the infants. "Matthew, Nathan, or – "

"Or," she sighed, letting out a small chuckle despite herself. "She hasn't a name yet. I'm waiting for my wife to wake up, so we can make the final decision together. We – " she hesitated for a moment, her breath caught in her throat. "We weren't exactly expecting things to pan out this way."

"Little Miss Lopez-Pierce then I presume?" the nurse questioned, her smile not faltering as she pointed toward the only baby wrapped in a light pink blanket. Santana nodded, her expression reflecting that of the nurse, only shifting into confusion when the woman brushed past her, rummaging in a closet that had yet gone unnoticed. She pulled out a white blanket, pointing out the rocking chair in the corner. "Have a seat and I'll get you set up."

"Set up?" Santana's eyebrows pulled together, her confusion becoming more evident.

"She's only attached to oxygen currently. Her lungs may be a bit weak in the beginning, and she may develop slight asthma, but on the whole, you have a terrifically strong little girl ma'am. They'd implanted a breathing tube earlier, but removed it once they discovered that her sucking reflexes are perfectly developed, and she should be able to breast feed once your wife wakes up. She may have a bit of pain from the c-section, so there's always the option of pumping – "

"That still doesn't explain getting me set up," the brunette interrupted, fueled by caffeine and confusion only, though secretly thankful for the explanation she'd not yet received from the attending doctor.

"I'm sorry," the nurse chuckled. "I get a bit carried away at times. Given that she's on a low supply of oxygen, there is no reason you can't hold her, if you'd like. I'm assuming you two both planned on skin to skin contact had the birth gone according to calculations?" Santana nodded shyly, mildly overwhelmed by the idea that in moments, she'd be holding a baby, _her _baby. The other woman smiled brilliantly again, thrusting the blanket toward the expectant mother. "Remove your shirt, and settle yourself into the corner. I promise I won't peek."

Santana did as she was told, covering her bare chest with the thin blanket she'd been provided, tapping her foot impatiently as the nurse carefully lifted the infant out of her holding space. She felt her heart crack open as the first small cries fell off of her daughter's lips, and her chest ached for Brittany to be there to experience the most perfect sound she'd had bless her ears. Gingerly trading hands, the nurse allowed Santana a moment to cover her chest once more, the photographer's baby girl now tucked between her mother's skin and the threadbare blanket. She seemed to sink into the warmth of Santana's body, and the cries were exchanged for quiet snuffles as she tucked her head against the brunette's heart, her tiny fist curled up tight next to her face.

"How can you love someone so much, so quickly?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. Her daughter let out a wide yawn, her lips brushing against Santana's breast bone and her hand unfurling so her fingers were splayed across the woman's chest. She slowly began rocking, content to sit in the moment forever, singing softly to her daughter as if it were the only thing she'd ever known how to do.

_Duérmete mi niña, duérmete mi amor  
Duérmete pedazo de mi corazón,  
que tengo que hacer,  
lavar tus pañales sentarme a coser  
Ese niña quiere que la duerma yo,  
dormir en mis brazos y en mi corazón._

"That's lovely," the nurse murmured, and Santana was jolted from her thoughts, now centered solely on the tiny being in her arms and how to protect her from every evil of the world. "Where did you learn it?"

"My mother sang it to me when I was younger. I hadn't thought of it in years honestly," she replied, standing up shakily, careful not to jostle the sleeping infant still curled to her chest.

"Well, my shift is up, so I'll let you settle her back in – give you two some privacy." Santana nodded in thanks, sending a shy smile to the nurse, who immediately returned the gesture. Running solely on the knowledge that only one of her girls was safe, the brunette settled her daughter back into the plastic crib, tugging on her t-shirt quickly, so she wouldn't miss a moment of soft breaths, scrunched features, or overzealous yawns.

"There is nothing more terrifying." Santana twisted around from her place at the crib, barely able to make out her mother's features in the soft light of the doorway. "No fear is comparable to the idea of having your heart walk around outside of your body and knowing that try as you might, you can only protect it from so much for so long. Even for the strongest of us, it's scary. It's scary to think that everything you've done in your life up until this point is null and void now that your heart has been pulled from your chest and placed in another's body. She's going to be everything for you. You'll do anything to make sure that she's happy and healthy and safe."

"I have no idea what I'm doing," she whispered.

Another voice joined in, and she could hear the smile in the words. "None of us do sweet cheeks. But know that there is nothing, and I mean nothing, like the bond between a mother and a daughter. You've been given one of the most precious gifts in the world. Take advantage of every moment of it." The brunette sent a shy smile toward her mother-in-law, fighting not to tug her attention back to the sweetly sleeping infant behind her. "Do you want to go and see Britt?"

Leaning over the sides of the plastic crib, Santana pressed a feather light kiss to her daughter's forehead and gingerly rubbed a thumb across her cheek. "I love you more than you'll ever know - more than I'll ever understand. Suenos dulces mija."

* * *

She didn't understand the difference between this door and the one that stood between her and her wife the last time Brittany was in the hospital. It seemed more daunting, thicker than the last, and her sneaking suspicion told her it was due to the sign just to the left of it that boasted Intensive Care Unit. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she pressed her sweaty palm to the door knob, still yet unable to twist it and push her weight against the door in question.

"They need you to be strong for them sweetheart," April whispered, brushing past her and squeezing her shoulder affectionately. "We'll all be waiting out here when you come out." Santana scanned the waiting room, taking in the four concerned faces staring back at her. Puck and Rachel had set aside their differences, and she now gripped his arm insistently, her face still showing residual traces of the panic from earlier. Holly's eyes were tired, dark circles encompassing the normally bright blue orbs. April seemed to be in a similar state, her body language slumped, though she was fighting her own insecurity in favor of supporting her daughter.

"I need Quinn," the brunette whispered meekly. "Where is she?"

"She was – " April cleared her throat, "- taking care of a few things. Andy is bringing her by now. She should be arrive in the next fifteen or so minutes, so she'll be here too." Santana nodded a few times, building her dwindling strength level back up and setting her face into a determined expression before pressing against the door, the now familiar sounds of the machine surrounding her wife assaulting her ears.

Brittany lay in bed, propped up by a few pillows, but wholly unaware of her surroundings. Were it not for the monitors around her, the brunette would have assumed by the slight scrunch of her features that she'd been catapulted back in time for a few hours prior, when Brittany's face was set identically as it was now, when she'd been asleep in their bedroom. Cautiously moving forward, she finally made her way to the bed, slipping her fingers until her wife's limp hand, squeezing gently. Long eyelashes fluttered open, and blue eyes darted around in confusion for several seconds before focusing on mocha, allowing the body attached to them to sigh in relief.

"Hey beautiful girl, how are you feeling?" Santana said lowly, the corner of her mouth tugging upward.

"Like crap," Brittany whispered, the trace of a cheeky grin the only sign that her wife had that indicated things would be okay. "The baby?" Her voice trailed off, catching in her throat slightly, as if she were afraid of allowing herself to hear the answer.

"She's perfect." The two words were enough to catalyze a strong reaction from the blonde, tears shimmering in the corners of her eyes. Santana gingerly leaned forward, releasing her wife's hand in favor of wrapping her arms around Brittany's neck, pulling her carefully into her chest. "She's a fighter, that one," she murmured. "Three pounds, four ounces, and fifteen inches long. They gave her formula through a feeding tube, but her sucking reflex developed just fine, and once you're feeling better, they said you can breast feed if you want."

The blonde nodded into her wife's chest, unable to keep her tears at bay. "When will I be able to see her?"

"If your bleeding stays under control, they said you may be able to later tonight. They'd like to keep her here for observation for a week or so I think, to ensure that there are no problems they haven't already anticipated, but tomorrow, they'll be able to move her into your room until you're released."  
Brittany nodded once more, tiredly. "I'm sorry," she whispered out.

"You haven't anything to be sorry for sweetheart. Things like this happen, and we have no control over them. Our little girl is just fine – without a name of course, but just fine." Santana brushed an errant piece of hair away from her wife's forehead, placing a kiss where her fingers had brushed. Brittany's hand fell to the brunette's hip, rubbing her thumb underneath the thin material of her t-shirt, across the still slightly raised scars there, knowing they shone brightly against her dark skin.

"Dylan?" she questioned, her thumb following the outline of the D and Y emblazoned across the bone there. "And Elise after April?"

"Dylan Elise Lopez-Pierce," Santana considered, twisting her mouth in thought before nodding once, definitively. "I love it." She pressed another kiss, far longer, against her wife's lips, stroking her cheek lovingly as she had her daughter's minutes ago. "Now get some rest sweetheart. I'll wake you when they say you can go and see her, okay?"

Brittany smiled weakly, before nestling back into the pillows with a yawn, struggling to keep her eyelids open until she heard the door shut softly behind the brunette.

* * *

**AN: Just a head's up, I'll probably be rewriting the previous chapter, because after rereading it, I wasn't happy with the pacing of it.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter however, because I'm significantly more pleased with how it turned out. Haha. I didn't want to keep you waiting for too long, because I know I ended that last chapter in quite possibly the most horrible way possible, so.**


	13. Chapter 13: Her Other Mother

Taking in the occupants of the waiting room, Santana was sorely disappointed to find two pairs of hazel eyes meeting her gaze rather than the promised three. Turning to her mother, a sympathetic expression flashed across April's face and the woman shrugged apologetically. A flash of blonde hair flickered in the corner of the brunette's vision however, whereupon she was immediately tackled by a thin frame and continued murmurs of "I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

Breathing in the familiar vanilla of Quinn's shampoo, Santana felt her body sink into the embrace, the scent coating her shaken nerves. "It's okay Lucy Q." Pulling away, she ran a thumb across her best friend's cheek, tracing the streak of green nearly the same shade as the flecks in her eyes. Her brow scrunched in confusion, the pad of her finger rubbing against the paint there one, two, then three times. "What did you have to do?"

Folding her hand over the caramel fingers splayed across the apple of her cheek, the blonde dropped their clasped hands between them as her gaze dropped as well. Looking back up through light eyelashes, a shy smile floated against her features. "What kind of godmother would I be if I let little bit come home to an unfinished nursery?"

The emotional rollercoaster Santana had spent the better half of the day being flung around one suddenly corkscrewed once more as a rush of unhinged affection bubbled in her chest. "Thank you," she finally whispered, swinging their hands back and forth. "Do you want to see her?"

Quinn nodded bashfully, allowing herself to be led through the winding maze of hallways toward the hospital's NICU. A different nurse was meandering amongst the infants this time, but her gentle expression mimicked that of her coworker. "Lopez-Pierce?" the older woman questioned, chuckling at the flash of confusion both women seemed incapable of concealing. "She has your nose," the nurse offered, tucking a strand of grey flecked hair behind her ear before leaning over to grasp another child's clipboard, "and your lips." Santana allowed one half of her mouth to quirk up, thankful that even a complete stranger could recognize her genes represented in her daughter. "She has her father's eyes though - bluer than I've ever seen." The elderly nurse had turned her back to the pair to check the vitals of one of the boys and didn't notice the look of combined shock and seething anger coloring the cheeks of the blonde, nor the crestfallen expression Santana held, her chest tightening in response. "And might I say," the woman remarked, twisting back around, "you look incredible for having just had a baby."

Taking note of her best friend's frozen stance, her face stoic at best and devastated at worst, Quinn decided to speak up on the couple's behalf, her inherent protectiveness of their family suddenly flaring within her rib cage. "Actually, her eyes are blue because of her other mother," she said as calmly as she could manage, stressing the second to last word.

The disgusted look that overtook the nurse for a millisecond did not go unnoticed and Santana's hand flinched in the blonde's. "So you both chose a sperm donor with similar characteristics I'll assume?"

"No," Quinn stated plainly, "this little girl is biologically theirs, from her blue eyes to the adorable dimple in her right cheek."

"It all makes sense now," the woman muttered under her breath, releasing a breath she had obviously been holding, only continuing to speak when the blonde stepped forward, decreasing the distance between her goddaughter and herself, arching a challenging eyebrow. "I shouldn't have been surprised that a dramatically premature infant was that of a pair of _dykes_. The Lord was clearly trying to protect her from the sinful climate she will be subjected to when - "

"Quinn, don't," Santana whispered meekly, watching her best friend's hands curl into fists. "I don't want you to get kicked out of the hospital. I need you here." The blonde's furled fists tensed several times before she nodded, her hands falling to her side. The brunette could practically hear the mental debate churning beneath her shortened locks, and was thus unsurprised by her next actions. Quinn gripped the edges of the plastic crib Dylan lay in, her blue eyes wide, though they held no fear or trace of panic, simply a spark of curiosity as she observed the woman above her. When Quinn began rolling the infant toward the door, the nurse snapped to attention.

"Where do you think you're taking her?"

"I'm taking my _godchild _to her other mother, because I will not allow her to remain under your care any longer." The woman stood speechless, running her fingers through the top of her hair. "And then I'll be getting in contact with the head of the hospital, as I'm fairly certain you broke several rules in the discrimination section of the ethics code. Have a nice evening ma'am," the blonde smirked. "Let's go S."

The pair made their way out of the NICU and any questions from the hospital personnel they passed were swallowed when met with Quinn's glare. Pulling to a stop in front of Brittany's room, Santana tugged the blonde into a bone crushing embrace, murmuring her thanks into the woman's neck as the other members of their party cooed over the infant whose snuffles filtered into slight cries at the overwhelming amount of attention. The brunette immediately slipped a finger into the crib, whereupon Dylan grasped it, watery blue eyes locking onto mocha, filled to the brim with adoration for the tiny being. "Let's go meet your mama, mija," she whispered, a bright smile emblazoned on her features when the infant gurgled in response as Santana pushed the crib into Brittany's room.

Gingerly lifting her daughter up, she brushed her fingers across her wife's cheek, grinning when blue eyes locked first on brown, then shifted slightly to identical blue. "Careful of your stitches," Santana murmured, settling Dylan higher up on Brittany's body. She flipped around as the door clicked shut behind her, Dr. Cooper ambling in with two towels draped over his left arm.

"I should have known you two would be trouble," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Your fiery blonde friend outside is causing quite a commotion, so we've elected to let little one stay in here until you're released Mrs. Lopez-Pierce. How are we feeling?"

"Not bad," Brittany shrugged slightly, careful not to jostle her daughter, who was tucked into the crook of her neck. "When will I be able to breast feed, if you don't mind my asking?"

"You can try now, if you're feeling up to it. If she seems to have trouble latching on, suckling, or breathing though, we'll have to revisit the feeding tube until she's gained some weight. So long as you don't upset her oxygen supply, a first attempt can be made. I spoke to Dr. Jameson and he agrees, but he won't be in until tomorrow morning to check in with the three of you." Both women nodded, grateful for the leniency the hospital was providing them, given the unique circumstances. All of the nurses who had checked into their case were floored by Dylan's strength, and Brittany's ability to recover. She was still weak, and would need an extensive recovery period, but none had expected her to regain consciousness so soon, given the amount of blood lost. Santana had insisted that both of her girls were fighters, and the hospital staff had no choice but to agree.

"I'll send a nurse in to check on your progress within the next fifteen minutes. I'll need you to turn onto your side, and we'll place a rolled up towel against your incisions, as well as one underneath your baby. We don't need little one kicking and possibly upsetting your stitches, okay?" Brittany nodded, twisting to her right, fighting against a whimper.

"Easy sweetheart," Santana murmured. "She isn't going anywhere." Both the brunette and the attending physician settled the dancer as comfortably as possible, the towels in place as recommended. Dr. Jameson gave them a brief wave, ducking out of the room as Brittany tugged down the top of her hospital gown with her wife's assistance after trying, and failing, to manage on her own. "You're going to have to let me help you Britt-Britt. You won't be back to 100% for a while, and you've got to let me help."

The blonde sighed and nodded, resituating herself once more before lowering their daughter to her chest, a broad smile pulling at her features when the tiny girl latched on immediately. Santana perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her hand automatically reaching around to settle into the small of her wife's back, rubbing gently across the exposed skin there. The only sounds were the gentle slurps of their daughter, occasional breathy sighs each time she pulled back from Brittany's chest, and finally a contented yawn, when she nuzzled into the warmth of the blonde's skin. "Do you want to burp her? I feel like you kind of get gipped in this."

Santana nodded, laughing slightly before easing Dylan into her arms, patting her softly a few times before she received the tiniest of burps and a sigh of relief. She handed her daughter back to her wife, thankful the nurse had already passed by and given them the all clear, then circled the bed to the unoccupied side, tugging her t-shirt over her head and crawling in beside Brittany, opening her arms once more, to gather the infant and settle her into her chest. Once her own hands were free, the blonde slowly rolled onto her back again, not without a few frustrated groans and a single whimper of pain. She watched as her wife brushed revelatory fingers over the soft tufts of hair across their daughter's head, singing once again under her breath to the little girl.

"I was right all those years ago, you know," Brittany whispered, unwilling to break the cocoon around them.

"Right about what beautiful?" Santana returned easily, shifting her focus momentarily to the blonde.

"I have never loved you more than I do, in this moment." The brunette flushed considerably, ducking her head down for a moment before looking back upward to meet her wife's eyes.

"I was right too then." Brittany raised her eyebrows only slightly, encouraging the woman who held her entire heart in her arms to continue. "Just when I think I can't fall more in love with you - you prove me wrong."

* * *

Releasing the hospital gown, Dr. Jameson gave a satisfied nod. "Your stitches seem to be healing up just fine Mrs. Lopez-Pierce. You should be released this afternoon." After four long days in the hospital, the blonde was itching to get out of bed, given that her trips to and from the bathroom were unsatisfactory to say the least. "Little Miss Dylan, however, needs to stay an additional three or four days I'm afraid. We'd like to wean her off of the oxygen, and while the levels she's receiving are low, we want to be sure she'll be able to maintain her levels on her own once she's home." Both Brittany and Santana nodded, albeit unhappily. "No frowns," he chastised. "The majority of infants that we see born as early as she was are far worse off. I know you took excellent care of yourself while pregnant, and that is perhaps the only reason we are, for the most part, out of the woods. Statistically speaking, she should have been much smaller, and we should have encountered far more problems than we have. The only potential residual effect I can anticipate is perhaps asthma and you both should thank your stars it's only that."

"So we can take her home Monday?" Brittany confirmed, anxiously ringing her hands in her lap. She tossed her wife a lopsided grin when she felt caramel fingers encompass her own, stilling her motions before releasing them and stifling a yawn.

"Unless between then and now, something comes up, which is highly unlikely," he nodded, "you can take her home on Monday." He made a few notes on his clip board before hanging it once more at the foot of the hospital bed. "And, my little bunnies, no sex for six weeks, regardless of how Brittany is feeling. I'll have one of my nurses call to inform you of the date of your postpartum appointment, and we'll see how things have settled then, understood?" Both returned his nod dutifully, though honestly, for what might have been the first time in their relationship, neither had even briefly considered the idea of sex. "Before you've finished up your discharge paperwork this evening, we'll have you pump, so that we'll be sure to have enough milk on hand for Dylan's feedings. You'll need to do that at least once a day, and if at all possible, we'd like both of you to come in, so that you can feed her, and Santana can fit in some skin-to-skin bonding time. I know that was a large portion of your original birthing plan, and the current circumstances should not change that fact."

"Thanks Dr. J," Brittany remarked happily, excited to be able to go home to her own bed, where she was certain she wouldn't be reprimanded for cuddling with her wife, though knowing they would have to leave their little girl behind tugged difficultly at her heartstrings.

"She'll be home before you know it." He gripped Dylan's toes, wiggling them slightly and smiling warmly when she gurgled in response. Both women grinned down at their daughter, each motion and sound memorized and tucked away into the back of their minds. As their doctor brushed out of the room, waving jovially, Quinn caught the door before it shut, allowing it to swing closed behind her.

"How is my beautiful godchild?" she cooed, running a finger down Dylan's nose and tapping the end teasingly, lighting up when the little girl took hold of her finger, intent on not letting go as she stuck it into her mouth.

"She should be able to come home on Monday," Brittany whispered, watching as the child's eyelids grew heavier, and her grip on Quinn's finger loosened considerably with each rocking motion the blonde made. "I'll be released tonight, but they asked us to come in at least once a day until she's strong enough to be discharged too."

"Well, I talked to Andy –"

"Oh, really? Andy?" Santana smirked, dragging the man's name out and receiving a halfhearted glare from her wife, who thankfully still held their daughter and couldn't smack her arm as she normally did when the brunette teased their best friend.

Quinn rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Yes, Santana, and if you remember correctly, you now have a child and we are not in middle school anymore – "

"Out with it Lucy Q."

She sighed, shaking her head and laughing. "He offered to help me cook you guys dinner tonight, if you'd like that. I didn't figure Britt was feeling up to going out, and after all of the hospital food and take out you've had over the past few days, I thought a home cooked meal would be nice."

"That would be great Quinn," Brittany chirped. "We really appreciate it."

"I've got my spare key, so I'll head over there to meet up with him. Just let me know when you're on your way, and we'll get started with dinner. Sound good?" She shifted off of the foot of the bed, pressing a light kiss to Dylan's head, careful not to wake her. Both women nodded, sighing in relief when the blonde let the door click shut behind her, falling back into the pillows and drifting off to sleep until a nurse roused them a few hours later, informing them that Brittany's paperwork was finished, and with a few signatures, they could be on their way.

* * *

**AN: I really am spoiling you guys, but with the uncertainty of tomorrow's episode, and then the hiatus (which is just cruel, let me say), I've found it easier to bury myself in a bubble of Brittana that I can control, haha. I hope you're enjoying the change of pace, though I'm sure some of you (myself included), are ready to see our newest addition come home. Be patient, because it should be within the next chapter or two, I promise. :)**

**As always, if you have comments, criticism, or ideas for future plot lines, don't hesitate to review or PM me. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and don't be surprised if you have yet another update Friday or Saturday, to make up for whatever happens tomorrow night. Haha.**

**xx - A**


	14. Chapter 14: I Think We're Biased

"We'll be back first thing tomorrow morning sweetheart, I promise." Brittany hadn't spoken since the last signature dried on her discharge paperwork, and blue eyes remained focused on the passing buildings outside of the passenger window. Santana leaned over, grasping her wife's hand across the Jeep's console, intertwining their fingers and squeezing gently. "She'll be home with us soon." The blonde nodded unconvincingly, gripping caramel fingers more tightly.

"I miss her already," she whispered, leaning her head against the cool glass as the air conditioner whipped her bangs across her face. "I just feel like things won't be right until she's coming home with us, tucked in her little car seat in the back."

Gingerly rubbing her thumb against the top of the freckled hand in her own, Santana sighed, but nodded as well. "I know Britt-Britt. I want her here too, but you know the doctors are just being careful. We have to trust their judgment on this one."

"Being a grown up sucks," the blonde muttered, her bottom lip poking out as her wife released her hand to carefully navigate toward the curb, shifting into park. The photographer couldn't fight the grin tugging at her cheeks, but held in her laughter as she pulled Brittany's bag out of the trunk, shooting a longing glance at the barely visible car seat just feet away. She caught up to her wife seconds later, grabbing her hand and pulling her off of the first step once she'd entered the complex.

"You can't walk up five flights of stairs," she protested immediately.

"Oh, and what do you propose then, that you carry me?" the blonde quipped cheekily, before feeling a hand on her back and another beneath her knees. She threw her head back laughing, wincing only slightly at the pain in her abdomen that had subsided for the most part in the previous days. "That was not a suggestion Santana Marie. Put me down!" Her giggles only egged her wife on, and despite her heavy breathing, and several close calls with misplaced steps, they managed to make it to the fifth floor in one piece.

Santana waved her hand in an overly grand gesture, bowing and murmuring, "M'lady," sending both women into another round of laughter as the brunette slipped her key into the lock, taking in the familiar scent of their home, mixed with something slightly spicier - the spaghetti wafting in from the kitchen. Discarding their things on the table just inside of the door, the couple wandered toward the intoxicating smell, finding Quinn perched on the edge of the island watching Andy stir the dark red sauce. "I thought you both were cooking Lucy Q? Some friend you are, making poor neighbor boy do all the work."

"I don't mind," Andy shrugged as Santana ruffled the top of his hair teasingly.

"Lock this one down then Q," the brunette suggested, subtlety rushing out of the window. "If he's going to let you play pretty, pretty princess on the counter while he cooks for your best friends, I strongly suggest that you marry him." Both Quinn and Andy flushed, while Brittany sent her wife a reproachful glare, warning her to be on her better-than-best behavior, given that her best was typically everyone else's not-so-good. "It smells good though Andy, thank you." She received a shy grin from the man, a blinding smile from her wife, and a smirk accompanied by the mouthed words _you're so whipped _from her best friend. Ignoring the last one, she headed toward the fridge, offering her wife a glass of wine.

"Santana," she grumbled, "you know I can't drink."

"You pumped before you left, and we won't be back at the hospital for another twelve hours beautiful. It takes two hours for one glass of wine to come out of your system, so you're safe with just one." Brittany twisted her mouth in thought, finally nodding once. "Good," the brunette cooed when she brought the goblet over, sidling in behind her wife and beginning to massage between her shoulder blades, "because you need to relax a little B."

The blonde sighed, leaning into Santana's dexterous fingers as they worked out the knots that had formed over the past week. She let out a weak moan, causing Andy to cough uncomfortably, subsequently sending Quinn into a fit of giggles. He cleared his throat a few times before speaking. "Dinner's ready, if you guys want to -" Brittany's eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, and her wife was pressed against most of her back, leaving Andy standing in shock, unable to finish his sentence.

"Hey horndogs," Quinn barked. "Dinner's ready. Let's go and _eat out_on the balcony." Andy gulped audibly and Santana smacked her best friend's arm before grabbing a handful of plates and crossing the living room to the balcony just outside of their French doors.

Settling around the table, the blonde noticed that her two best friends were far more tactile than they'd been previously, and that, in and of itself, was an accomplishment. The brunette doted more than she ever had on her wife, bending to any and every whim Brittany might have even considered asking for. She was sure Santana would try and decrease the speed of the wind if her wife had mentioned it being a bit chilly, but despite feeling as if she might want to vomit into her dinner plate, Quinn couldn't help but find the glow they both basked in endearing.

"So how's Dylan?" Andy finally spoke up, setting his fork on the edge of his plate and leaning forward on his elbows. "I've had Rory the past few days, so I hadn't had a chance to make it back to the hospital."

Santana nodded, reaching over and grasping Brittany's left hand in her right, allowing them to continue eating. "She's doing really well. We should be able to bring her home Monday."

"So I should go out and buy ear plugs this weekend?" he teased.

"She's actually really quiet," Brittany murmured. "I guess she's more kinesthetic, and less verbal." She looked up from her plate of spaghetti to find both her wife and best friend staring at her incredulously before Santana shook her head, allowing the blonde's remark to go unquestioned. "So no, no ear plugs," she finally said, shooting a soft smile toward the brunette still gripping her hand with everything she had. "How's Rory doing anyway Andy?"

Not able to hold back the grin of his own, his pride in his daughter radiated across the table. "She's great. She absolutely adores Quinn, and asks about you both all of them. For whatever reason, she seems to have taken a liking to Santana."

"I _am _likeable guys, thanks," she grumbled, her pout only disappearing when Brittany's lips pressed into the apple of her cheek.

"_I _like you," the blonde murmured, nuzzling into her shoulder before returning her gaze to the man across the table. "That's good," she said nonchalantly, blue eyes flickering between their neighbor and best friend. "I hadn't realized you two had been spending so much time together though."

The pair on the other side of the table froze, exchanging uncomfortable glances between themselves before Quinn decided to speak up, as Andy's cheeks were steadily reddening. "Well I mean, we'd seen each other around, and then when you had to rush Britt to the hospital last Sunday, he stuck around to help me with the nursery, because Puck and Rachel were going to be less than no help," she shrugged.

"I thought you had to pick up Rory?" Santana questioned, arching an eyebrow.

"My ex-girlfriend said she would keep her for the night, so I could help you both out. She's usually pretty understanding with stuff like that, so I just got Rory the next day."

"Enough interrogation!" Quinn clapped her hands together, and Andy sighed audibly, thankful for the distraction. "We wanted to show you both Dylan's room. He did an incredible job." The blonde grinned over her shoulder, and Brittany preemptively nudged her wife, ensuring that she would say nothing about the blatant flirting until the three of them were alone, because their neighbor looked approximately six words from passing out due to embarrassment. Quinn took hold of Santana's hand, leading them both through the apartment to the closed door next to their bedroom, throwing it open with a flourish.

"If you want to change anything, I can – "

"No," Brittany whispered. "It's perfect Andy." The walls were a sage green, and the brunette flickered back in her mind's eye a few days, remembering that exact color etched into her friend's cheekbone. On the right side of the main wall was a perfectly painted cherry blossom tree, the bark the same shade as the wooden crib assembled nearest it, the linens tucked in gently and highlighting the flowers splayed across the wall. A rocking chair was set up in one corner, a changing table in another, and they'd managed to dim the lighting somewhat, so the room was bathed in a golden warmth. The blonde squeezed her wife's hand briefly before turning and seeing her tears reflected in wavering chocolate orbs.

"Thanks Q," Santana managed to choke out. "Thank you both, so much." Quinn wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her more closely and kissing the top of her head. There weren't words for them in that moment, and to be honest, any letters strung together might have polluted the sheer magic of it. For the second time in just a few days, Santana felt herself becoming overwhelmed by the love she held her best friend. Leaning further into the blonde's side, she allowed the feeling to wash over her, coating her in a protective layer of affection. More tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she sniffled slightly, but remained as she was, unwilling to release either blonde in her hands to wipe at the moisture dripping steadily down her cheeks.

* * *

The mattress jostled her body several times, and Santana groaned, pulling her pillow over her head, protesting the earliness of the morning. "Britt, you shouldn't be bouncing."

"Get up!" she squealed. "Up, up, up, and out of bed, _now! _Today is not the day to be a sleepyhead."

Lifting the pillow up slightly so she could be heard, Santana continued her grumbling. "The last morning we get to sleep in for approximately the next eighteen years, and you decide to wake me up before seven? No me gusta mi amor. No me gusta nada."

"Babe," Brittany whined, and her wife could practically hear the pout in her voice. "We get to bring Dylan home today. I know it's early and you hate mornings, especially super-hot mornings when the sidewalk basically sticks to the bottom of your shoes, and not the super-hot mornings when you wake up to my hand between your –"

"Britt!" she exclaimed, biting back a laugh. "I'm up, okay? I'm going to make some coffee, hop in the shower, and then we can go."

"I already made you coffee," the blonde grinned. "And I picked out your clothes, and set a towel out for you in the bathroom." Santana shook her head, tugging her bottom lip in between her teeth as she took in the unadulterated excitement spread across her wife's features.

"I love you," she murmured, leaning up for a kiss.

"I love you too," Brittany hummed in response, before tickling her wife in a last ditch attempt to get her up and in some semblance of the process of getting ready. "Now get your sexy ass out of bed so we can leave," she teased, smacking Santana's butt when she finally managed to pull herself from the mattress.

Fifteen minutes later, which was fourteen minutes and fifty nine seconds too long for the blonde's liking, they were out of the door, and Santana's mood had improved drastically, due to the large thermos of coffee in her hand, and her now cognizant brain realizing that she was sheer moments away from being able to take her daughter home. When they'd come to a stop in the hospital parking garage, however, her expression suddenly darkened, and Brittany grasped her hand quickly in response. "Are you okay?"

"What if I'm a terrible mother?" she whispered, eyes focused on the steering wheel in front of her, the only tangible sensation being her wife's hand in her own.

"You won't be," the blonde said decidedly, and for a moment, that was enough.

Chewing at the inside of her cheek, she shifted her gaze over to the wide blue eyes staring at her readily, and immediately thought of her child, and the trust the little girl held in identical blue orbs. "How do you know?"

Brittany looked upward, scrunching her brow slightly as if trying to choose the right words from the air just above her head. Santana waited as patiently as she could manage, squeezing her wife's fingers after a while to encourage an answer. "I know because no one has ever treated me with the care that you do. You have taken care of me for such a long time, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you'll do that with our child. You make sure I'm told I'm beautiful and loved at least once a day, and the way you look at me? God, the way you look at me makes me feel like I'm the only person on the planet that could possibly matter to you."

"Until a few days ago, you _were _the only person that really mattered Britt-Britt."

"That's what I mean," she sighed, rubbing her thumb against the caramel skin beneath it. "From the first time I saw you with our daughter, I could tell that she was your entire world. You look at her in the same way you look at me, like you're amazed that we're yours – like you're amazed that we love you."

"I _am _amazed."

Brittany tapped the end of her nose, smiling gently at her. "And that's how I know you're going to be an incredible mother. Some days, we may not be able to figure out why she's crying, and others, just your touch will be enough. One day, she'll swear she hates us both, but the next, she'll fall into your arms because her heart has been broken. It's not going to be sunshine and rainbows and happiness every day, as much as I know we both wish it could be, but I don't doubt that our daughter will love you with everything she has, based solely on the fact that you already love her with more than you are."

Leaning in to press a lingering kiss to thin lips, Santana cupped her wife's cheek, her fingers wrapping around the back of her neck and tickling at the baby hairs there. "Thank you," she whispered before pulling away completely, unlocking their doors and stepping onto the pavement, waiting for Brittany to come around the car before making their way towards the elevators, hand in hand to pick up their daughter.

* * *

"Is it completely crazy of me to say that I think I'd be content to stay like this forever?" she questioned, leaning against the back of the couch with Brittany between her legs. She'd nestled her head over her wife's shoulder, watching as Dylan suckled against the pale flesh, occasionally letting out yawns that grew in intensity the longer she nursed.

"No," Brittany whispered, shifting the infant and patting her back a few times, "because I can't think of a more perfect way to spend forever." She brushed her fingers through the top of soft tufts of dark hair before pressing a revelatory kiss to their daughter's forehead. They sat quietly for several long minutes, watching as the slight twitches of Dylan's limbs subsided, and she fell further into her sleep, stilling in Brittany's arms.

"She really is perfect."

The blonde nodded, chuckling slightly. "I think we're biased."

"I don't. I'm pretty sure we produced the most perfect human being to grace the planet. Everyone else would agree." Brittany sighed, the smallest of smiles playing against her lips as she leaned further into her wife's body, tilting her head up to meet her for a brief kiss. "I love you too," Santana murmured against her cheek once they'd pulled away.

"I didn't say I loved you," the dancer teased.

"You didn't have to." She pressed another kiss beneath Brittany's ear, allowing her eyes to flutter closed and the scents of citrus and baby powder to flood her senses while she reveled in the first moment they were home, together, as a family.

* * *

**AN: Yeah, okay. I felt like we all needed a bit of a pick me up after tonight's episode, so until Glee returns, I will more than likely be burying myself head first into this story. Fluff, all around for you beautiful readers. I'm hoping to have a few more chapters up before my second round of tests really kick in, and thankfully, I'll have two days off of school next week, so I'm hoping to get a good bit of writing in then too.**

**And for those of you who may be interested, I will be posting a Heya one shot as a sort of companion piece to my recently completed Heya fic, in reference to The Break Up. That should be up in the next few days.**


	15. Chapter 15: Really Pretty for a Lesbian

"I've got her," she murmured, pressing a kiss to her wife's forehead. "Go back to sleep beautiful." Pulling back the comforter, she shifted herself to the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a flannel button down, rolling the sleeves up before easing off of the mattress.

"What if she's hungry?" Brittany murmured, fighting against the fuzzy edges of sleep.

"You pumped before bed. There are a few bottles in the refrigerator. I'll warm one up," Santana whispered, walking around the foot of the bed and pressing another kiss to her wife's skin, this time to her cheek. "You're exhausted Britt-Britt. You need your rest."

"You're tired too," she yawned, protesting even though she knew it was a losing battle.

"I'm just fine." The brunette ran her fingers through the top of her wife's hair before a second round of snuffles, slightly louder this time, sounded from the bassinet in the corner of their bedroom. Santana padded quickly toward their daughter, leaning over to see bright blue eyes staring up at her curiously, lit by the moonlight pouring in from the window. "Tienes hambre mija?" she chuckled as she lifted her daughter up and the infant instantly nuzzled into her breasts. Shifting Dylan's weight, she retrieved one of the small bottles from the refrigerator, singing under her breath to the little girl as the faucet's lukewarm water ran over the milk, warming it. Minutes later, as her daughter's quiet protests became more vocal, a rarity for the child, she pulled the bottle from the sink, wiping it down quickly, and heading into the yet unused nursery. Easing into the rocking chair in the corner, the room was illuminated solely by the light filtering through the curtains, washing over them both as Santana settled Dylan into the crook of her arm, offering the milk.

The pair let out a collective sigh of contentment as the rocking lulled them both into an easiness the daylight hours didn't provide. These were the moments she'd come to live for. In the rocking chair, with her daughter snug against her body, Santana felt as though nothing could touch the bubble of security the early morning stillness afforded them. She focused on the warmth of Dylan's skin against her torso, the amazement held in her bright blue eyes, and the weight of the child in her arms. She memorized her dark eyelashes, splayed across chubby cheeks and the tufts of hair beginning to cover her tiny head. She had, in just a few weeks, taking hundreds of photographs of her daughter and her wife, entranced by their communal beauty, but film couldn't capture the serenity that sated her, or the overwhelming bubble that seized in her chest when the little girl looked up at her, her expression full of need and, within that necessity, unbridled trust.

Santana twisted slightly, placing the now empty bottle at her feet, rocking one more as she pressed Dylan into her chest, patting her back gently as she sang lowly, feeling her daughter sink into her chest as her breathing slowed.

_A la nanita, nana nanita, ella nanita, ella  
Mi niña tiene sueño bendito sea, bendito sea  
Fuentecita que corre clara y sonora  
Ruiseñor que en la selva cantando llora  
Calla mientras la cuna se balansea  
A la nanita nana, nanita ella_

Peering down, she saw her child's clenched fists had loosened, resting flat against her breast as soft puffs of air fluttered across her collarbone. She eased herself out of the rocking chair slowly, hoping not to jostle Dylan and have her wake up before she'd managed to settle her back into her bassinet. Turning toward the door, she saw Brittany leaning into the frame, a lazy smile tugging at her cheeks.

"What?" Santana whispered, unable to contain her own smile.

"I just love hearing you sing to her," the blonde shrugged. "I remember all those years ago, when you said you couldn't sing anymore." Her wife flushed, ducking her head slightly, using their daughter as a buffer as she nuzzled into the top of her head. Brittany reached forward, tucking her fingers beneath the brunette's chin, lifting it so they made eye contact once again. "Your mom would be really proud of you sweetheart. You're an incredible mother."

"Tell me that again in fifteen years when I want to strangle her for sneaking out to a party."

Brittany sighed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "Brush it off all you want Santana," she murmured, "but just know that there is no one else I could ever imagine building a family with. You're my strength, every day, and I wouldn't be able to do this without you." She placed a gentle kiss to her wife's temple and another to their daughter's head. "Let's go back to bed, okay? We all have a big day tomorrow."

* * *

"Sweetheart," the blonde mumbled into the top of her wife's head, "you need to get up."

"No, I don't. I really don't. I need to sleep for at least three more days, and then I'll get up."

"Your phone is ringing," Brittany whispered, reaching out to silence the device so it wouldn't wake their daughter.

The brunette groaned in response, burying her face further into the pillows. "I don't have a phone."

"Good morning, Santana Lopez's secretary," she heard chirped into the phone she'd been vehemently ignoring. "She actually has an appointment scheduled this morning. Is there a possibility of the photo shoot being conducted this afternoon?" The woman being discussed sat upright in bed, sending her wife a look of disbelief which was returned by nothing more than a subtle smirk. Brittany's expression shifted into one that mimicked the woman next to her as she listened intently to the person on the other end of the line. She cleared her throat before responding, nodding a few times as if trying to gather her bearings. "Yes sir, I'm sure that can be arranged. Ten o'clock is just fine. Thank you, Mr. Motta." She hung up the phone before slipping from beneath the covers and retrieving their daughter, who now lay wide awake in her bassinet, gurgling softly, a wide smile set into her features.

"Are you going to explain to me what just happened?" Santana grumbled from her place propped up against the pillows, wrapping her arm around her wife's shoulder when she settled back onto the bed, tugging her shirt upwards. She leaned into Brittany's shoulder, stifling a yawn before gazing up at the blonde expectantly.

"You have a shoot at ten o'clock, obviously enough," she explained, shrugging against her wife's cheek.

"Dylan's six week checkup is at 10:30 though."

"And Mr. Motta is prepared to pay you ten thousand dollars to get this done this morning. I'll record the exam on my phone if it's that important."

"Britt, that's not the same," she immediately protested. "I don't want to be one of those parents who miss milestones because they're too busy at work. We said we wouldn't be those parents."

"We also said we'd do anything in our power to make sure that our daughter never had to struggle. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money."

"We aren't exactly struggling now," Santana rebuffed, a hint of disdain coloring her words. Her automatic reaction to fight, to be there for every moment of her daughter's life in a way that her own mother couldn't be, stuck in her chest.

"Most of this exam is going to be about me anyway – uterine exam, questions about breastfeeding, blood test for anemia. Sweetheart, you should do this. Al Motta is a big deal, isn't he?" Santana nodded, her feathers still ruffled over missing the appointment. "Then you should do this. It could open a lot of doors for you honey." Her wife huffed again before nodding in resignation and pressing a kiss to the apple of Brittany's cheek before sliding out from underneath the comforter and heading to the bathroom to shower.

Once she'd dried her hair and slipped into a pencil skirt and blouse, she headed into the kitchen, to be met with a warm thermos of coffee and two smiling, blue eyed girls. "Stop by the studio when you're finished?" Brittany nodded happily, delicately bringing their mouths together. "I love you," Santana whispered against her wife's lips before pressing another kiss to the side of Dylan's head. "Y te amo tambien mija." She plastered on a brave face as she walked out of the front door, heading downstairs for the first time on her own since they'd brought their daughter home. Her breathing picked up, though she knew it had nothing to do with the incline, and she tucked a bent pointer finger beneath her eyes, willing the tears to fall back behind her eyelids. Since the couple found out Brittany was pregnant, she'd imagined this day, but she'd clearly underestimated the power the little girl would hold over her heart while simultaneously overestimating her own strength. Digging into her purse, she pulled her keys out, unlocking the Jeep and settling into the driver's seat before resting her head against the steering wheel and taking several long, shaking breaths. "You can do this," she whispered to herself, though the words seemed to be echoing in the empty vehicle. Her phone chimed in her purse and she pushed her bangs back, wiping at the few stray tears that had managed to push past her defenses. Sliding her thumb across the lock screen, she shook her head, fighting a grin and another onslaught of tears.

_You can do this. Xx B and D_

After all of their years together, Santana shouldn't have been surprised at the telepathy they possessed, but in moments like this, her wife's innate knowledge of precisely what she needed catalyzed an explosion of warmth within her chest and nodding to herself a few times, she turned the keys in the ignition and merged into the busy streets of Chicago.

* * *

"Sugar Motta," the woman pronounced, extending her hand. "My father spoke to your secretary this morning." Santana set down her camera and shook the proffered hand once, firmly, with her professional smile set into her cheeks. "You're actually really pretty for a lesbian." The photographer's eyes widened comically, and the agent in front of her shrugged. "Asperger's."

"Well, it's nice to meet you Ms. Motta. Where is your model?"

Sugar shrugged, gesturing offhandedly to the majority of the room. "She's somewhere getting ready. I really don't care."

As if on cue, the model strode confidently into the main area of the studio, scantily clad in mint green lace. Referring to the lingerie as clothing would have been generous, given that very little of the woman's alabaster skin was covered. Auburn waves cascaded over one shoulder and celery eyes twinkled mischievously as the model extended her own hand, slender fingers encompassing Santana's for just a second longer than could have been considered professional.

The redhead smirked as she released the photographer's hand, brushing their fingertips to extend the contact. "Jennifer," she announced, her voice almost irritatingly breathy. "Mr. Motta speaks so highly of you. Your work is all over his office, and might I say, you're _extremely _talented." Santana cleared her throat awkwardly, nodding and murmuring her gratitude. "I just need a few head shots, and about as many full length photos. He recently acquired another modeling agency, and they're looking for a few new girls for Victoria's Secret's spring line."

The brunette nodded once more, gesturing toward the set. "Do you have a preference of music genre, or would you rather do this sans background noise?"

Sugar offhandedly thrust an iPod into Santana's hands, as the model asked for the second playlist to be used. There was a strange combination of songs, from Frank Sinatra to Skrillex, further to Kanye West and Bonnie Raitt. The photographer was accustomed to her models' at times eccentric demands however, and hit shuffle after attaching the device to her stereo system's auxiliary cord. Jennifer settled into her first position, carefully listening to Santana's instructions, tilting her head slightly or squaring her shoulders as they shuttered through the head shots quickly. While readjusting the set to accommodate the full length photos, the photographer checked her phone, seeing two texts - one from Quinn, reminding her of their late lunch that day, and another from her wife.

_Dylan has gained two and a half pounds and we're cleared for lady kisses. ;) Feel like celebrating tonight? A glass of wine, maybe? Xx_

Snickering, Santana typed out a quick response before turning back to her crew, who nodded, indicating that the shoot could continue. She sidled behind the camera, occasionally adjusting the light as they made their way through another hundred or so frames, finally calling out that they could wrap. Jennifer brushed off the proffered robe and instead, strode across the room towards Santana, asking if she could see a few of the photographs before editing, to get a feel for how they came out. The brunette nodded, lifting her camera from its tripod and twisted to show the model on the small screen. Paranoia crept in as the woman continued giggling at Santana's commentary, brushing her hand against the small of the brunette's back, and standing just a little too closely for a working relationship.

A blur of blonde came from out of nowhere, warm lips pressing against her mouth, and she felt her body relax immediately. "Hey," she breathed out, finally allowing her eyelashes to flutter open.

"Hey yourself," Brittany quipped in return, adjusting Dylan against her chest. "I missed you." Santana grinned, rolling her eyes playfully. "What?" she chuckled, feigning innocence. "I was getting spoiled having you all to myself," she whispered, just loudly enough for Jennifer to hear, before wrapping a protective arm around her wife's waist.

Both women twisted around when the redhead cleared her throat loudly. Chuckling slightly, Santana began introductions. "Britt, this is my model today, from Mr. Motta's agency. Jennifer, this is Brittany, my wife, and this is our daughter Dylan," she cooed, tickling at the exposed toes peeking from beneath the sling the infant was cocooned in.

"Lovely to meet you," the model deadpanned before returning her attention the photographer. "So how about I stop by later this week, to go over the photos with you?"

"Oh no," Santana affirmed, shaking her head, "that won't be necessary. I'll go through them with my intern, and I'll send them to Mr. Motta personally. You're free to go." Jennifer looked as though she were going to protest the finality of the brunette's statement but eventually sighed, rolling her eyes and stalking off toward the dressing room to change. Arching an eyebrow as she turned to her wife, Santana giggled at Brittany's attempts at nonchalance. "It's kind of hot when you get all jealous and protective."

"Gingers freak me out," she stated simply. "I'm not about to let some soulless woman who sunburns at night steal my wife. Not happening."

"You're cute," the brunette chuckled. "But let's get you out of here before you get someone to hold your earrings and you try out your own version of Lima Heights on that poor, unsuspecting woman." Brittany grumbled under her breath, shooting glares toward the dressing room until her wife gathered her bag, waved goodbye to the crew, and took her hand, leading her toward their cars.

* * *

"I feel like she's getting so big, so fast," Quinn murmured, running her fingertips across Dylan's lips, giggling every time the child would take hold of a finger and clamp it firmly in her mouth. Shifting her gaze upward, she caught both of her friends grinning widely at her, staring unabashedly. "So Britt, the checkup went okay?"

"The only issue was that I need to up my iron supplements, because I'm still a little anemic. Other than that, both Dylan and I are just fine," she stated softly, sending a halfhearted smile toward the other blonde before spearing a chunk of asparagus with her fork. She watched as Quinn nodded absentmindedly, distracted once again by the infant, who was offering her unique version of giggles as she palmed her godmother's face insistently.

"And how has everyone else been adjusting to your inherent babyhood?"

"Mom expects at least one picture a day, and her and Holly are planning another trip up here pretty soon," Santana said, scrunching her brow in thought. "Puck is Puck, of course. His primary concern is that Andy doesn't spend too much time with Dylan, because he's apparently concerned she will forget him, and assume 'that hipster art school punk,' direct quote, is her godfather instead."

"And Rachel?" she asked, her voice low, which earned her an arched eyebrow from Santana, a sigh from Brittany, and sudden silence from their daughter, as if Dylan were following the conversation as well.

"She sent me an MP3 of her singing some opera lullaby, and asked me to play it every night before Dylan goes to sleep, so she would remember her voice." Quinn chuckled quietly, running her fingers through the child's hair. "It makes her cry, so I'll be sticking to my own impromptu karaoke performances." The blonde's chuckles increased, until they shifted and transformed into what seemed like sobs. Brittany hurriedly stood from the table, slipping Dylan out of her friend's arms and returning her into the sling on her chest. She tossed a blanket over her shoulder and drew her top down, hoping to have their daughter fed and sleeping soundly as soon as she could, so the infant wouldn't pick up on the growing tension at the table.

"Are you okay?" Brittany finally queried, rocking back and forth slightly, as her wife sat frozen behind her. The blonde nudged Santana, snapping her from the haze she'd settled into and cocked her head toward Quinn, implying that something needed to be done.

"Q, honey, what's going on?"

After releasing several choked sobs, she looked up into dark eyes, wrought with concern, and sniffled slightly, trying vainly to control herself. "I feel so guilty," she finally muttered, the tears continuing down her cheeks and her voice caught strangely in her throat. "I like Andy, more than I probably should, but Rachel still floats through my head from time to time, and Puck?" She groaned. "Like you said, Puck is Puck. He'll always hold a place in my heart, as much as I'd like to smack him across the face with a two by four of _never happening again_."

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The three women all lifted their eyes to look at their waiter, who was wringing his hands nervously in front of him. "My manager said we're going to have to ask you to leave. You're causing a disturbance."

Santana's eyes flared dangerously, and she pressed her fingertips to the top of the table, urging her body to settle before she spoke. "She's crying. If it's such a big deal, I'll take her to the bathroom and let her ride out this emotional wave, and everything will be just fine compadre."

The young man cleared his throat awkwardly, his fingernails now digging into the palm of his opposite hand. "Not her, ma'am," he replied, nodding toward Quinn. "Her." The flame that had momentarily flickered out returned with a roaring vengeance, as Santana followed his arm down to where it gestured meekly to her wife.

"Because she's feeding our child?" she questioned, her incredulity evident in her tone of voice. "You're seriously going to make us leave because – "

"Sweetheart, don't," Brittany whispered, placing her free hand on her wife's thigh, rubbing in soothing circles. "If you could box our meals and bring our check, we'd appreciate it." She flashed a tense smile toward the waiter and he nodded, scurrying away with unrivaled speed.

"How can you be okay with this Britt?" Santana hushed back, blatantly attempting to gather the blonde's attention.

"I'm not," she shrugged, her voice small as she dug in her purse for enough cash to cover the meal, "but I'm not going to cause a scene over it. It's not worth it."

"I hate to say this, but I agree with Santana honey. Dylan shouldn't – "

"That's all fine and wonderful Quinn. There are a lot of things that shouldn't happen, or be thought, or be said, for that matter, but they do," Brittany barked, slapping down her money and pushing away from the table. The two friends sat in silence, studying their nails intently until the waiter came with the check and three boxes of nearly untouched food.

* * *

Santana's hands gripped the steering wheel within them so tightly her knuckles were blanching as she drove home, a hurricane of emotions shuttling their way through her chest, each more prominent than the last. Confusion, anger, and frustration had wound themselves in between her bones and muscles, pulsating in an aching beat below her breastbone. Any attempts she made at controlling her breathing were impractical, and she dreaded pulling into her parking place and braving five flights of stairs, because she knew her temper would only contain itself for so long before she exploded. She overestimated herself once more that day.

The door slammed behind her, jolting Brittany from her place curled into the couch, and her voice roared with an anger she hadn't felt consume her in years. "Do you want to explain what in the hell just happened?" The blonde stared at her blankly for a few moments, her features giving away not a molecule of her emotions, before shrugging. "No, don't shrug at me. Don't you dare fucking shrug at me." She ran her fingers through the top of her hair, trying relentlessly to ease her body into some semblance of maturity, of reasonable conversation and logicality. When she spoke again, her voice was much quieter, but she still felt her limbs shaking, despite her clenched fists. "You drop a bomb like that, with no explanation, and walk out of a restaurant with our child, without telling me where you're going? Do you know - can you even imagine - how terrified I was?"

"I'm sorry," was all Brittany managed to whisper out, tears pooling against her eyelashes.

"The second parent adoption isn't finalized. You could take her from me, and I would never see my child again, do you understand that? I didn't know why you were upset, if it was me, or Quinn, or the waiter, and if it was me? God, if it was me – " She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head and willing the tears to remain captured in their ducts. "If it was me, you could take off without a word, and I wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it Britt."

"I would never take her from you."

"But you could," Santana shrugged, wiping her bent finger beneath her right eye before settling into the couch next to her wife, allowing the silence to encompass them for several minutes before she felt composed enough to speak again. She reached between them, intertwining their fingers, and squeezing gently. "Why were you so upset?"

"An older woman stopped me on my way back from changing Dylan in the bathroom, to say how beautiful she was." A slight smile tugged at the brunette's cheeks before she noticed her wife's solemn expression, and the inherent burst of pride withered away. "She asked about her dad, and I pointed you out." The drop at the end of Brittany's sentence meant finality. There would be no further explanation without a few well worded questions on Santana's part.

"I'm guessing she wasn't okay with the fact that we're both women?" The blonde shook her head quickly, brushing furiously against the few stray tears that had covered her cheeks. "Baby, we've been fighting against that for years. Why did it upset you so much now?"

Brittany shifted on the couch, watching as their daughter lay peacefully, several feet away in her foldaway crib. Without removing her gaze from Dylan's steady breaths, she addressed her wife. "We're her mothers Santana. We're supposed to love her, and to – " She coughed, as if the words had stuck themselves somewhere in her trachea, and she was fighting to push them out, despite their best efforts to remain where they were. "We're supposed to protect her from all of the hate in the world. How can we do that when being her mothers is what is going to bring out that hate?" Brittany leaned into the brunette's side, still incapable of shifting her focus from their daughter, trying to mimic her even breathing. "I just don't want her to have to go through that – the snide comments, the disgusted looks, the bullying. She didn't choose this."

"Neither did we Britt-Britt," Santana whispered, wrapping an arm around her wife's waist. "I don't doubt that maybe it will be harder for her, for parent-teacher conferences, or father-daughter dances, or things like that, but I also don't doubt that we'll be able to raise a strong, beautiful young woman, who won't let other people's opinions affect her own. She's been a fighter since day one sweetheart; she'll be okay."

"But what if she isn't? Brittany sniffled miserably. "What if – "

"With all the love she has in her life, I know she will be all right." The blonde nodded weakly against Santana's shoulder, nuzzling further into the embrace. "We're gonna be just fine baby – all three of us."

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry! I had promised to have something up this weekend, but I got hit by a truck full of writer's block, and I struggled to make it through portions of this chapter for that very reason. Therefore, I hope the length of this one makes up for the fact that you had to wait a few extra days.**

**As always, thank you for the kind words, the reviews, and each and every follow and favorite. You guys are wonderful. :)**

Oh, and also, the lullaby Santana sings in this chapter can be found on YouTube; its name is A La Nanita Nana.


	16. Chapter 16: Wiggle Worm Duty

She swirled the dark liquid in her cup, watching as the mocha continued twisting in the confines of the mug even after she had stopped her motions. A flash of blonde appeared in the corner of her eye before Quinn settled in across from her, clutching a chai tea and running her fingers through the top of her hair in an attempt to tame it.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she murmured breathlessly. "I just got out of an International Human Rights exam."

"Fascinating," Santana teased, watching as her friend settled a mound of books into one of the empty chairs at their four-top. "So are we going to talk about the Great Fabray Meltdown of yesterday?"

"Only if we also cover the insanity that was the Spontaneous Britt Explosion of the same day," Quinn shrugged. She shifted in her seat, tucking one leg up to her chest and allowing her wide eyes to scan the length of the brunette's face. "Are you two okay?"

"We're fine," Santana nodded. "We talked about it when I got home, after I may or may not have lost what little religion I possess all over the walls of our living room, but we're fine now." She lifted the cup to her lips, reveling in the warmth of the liquid slipping down her throat, warming her limbs. Fall was settling into the city quickly, and despite her jacket and scarf, she had still been fighting against the biting wind. "Now spill Q. What's going on with you and the romantic parallelogram you've got going?"

"Andy asked me – " The blonde froze, her eyes fixated over Santana's shoulder and her words caught in her throat.

"Can I have a grande mocha, with almond milk?" The voice catalyzed the brunette to twist around in her seat, her jaw dropping unattractively as she took in the slender frame at the coffee shop's counter. Snapping out of the fog that had settled between the two women, Santana flipped back around, repeating her friend's words and leaning forward expectantly for the culmination of the sentence.

"He asked me on a date," she whispered, hazel still locked on the woman ten feet away.

The photographer snapped her fingers in front of Quinn's face, effectively garnering her attention for a few short moments, refocusing the blonde toward the conversation at hand. "Why do you not seem happy? You said you liked him."

"Why is she in town?" the blonde muttered, ignoring Santana's question and breaking their eye contact to watch the brunette tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for her drink.

"I don't know Q, but it shouldn't affect your answer to my question. Why are you not – "

"Santana!" Rachel beamed, clutching her cup and strolling toward them. "Quinn," she then nodded, receiving but a guarded smile in return. "Is Brittany with you two? I need to speak to her, if at all possible."

"She's at home with Dylan right now, but she's meeting us in a little bit to go shopping," the photographer explained, her eyes darting between the other two women in her party, trying to deduce the meaning between their reticent physical conversation. "You could call her, if it's important?"

"Or you could sit down with us," Quinn offered quickly, earning identical incredulous looks from the brunettes across from her.

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Yeah Q, she wouldn't want to –"

"I insist." Her hazel eyes focused unwaveringly on chocolate ones, silently pleading for understanding. Santana huffed slightly, but nodded, gesturing to the only unoccupied seat at their table before raising an eyebrow, implicitly stating that their conversation had not been successfully avoided. The tension was evident, as the photographer's attention remained alternately focused between the other two, eyes narrowed and inspecting for non-verbalized interactions. Despite holding their offbeat friendship close to her heart, Santana was wary of the effect Rachel could, and likely would, have on Quinn, and it was obvious that trust would remain an issue until she was proven otherwise. The last thing she was equipped to handle was another year of cold lasagna, spontaneous sessions of unbridled tears, and near constant Streisand allusions. Therefore, the three women sat quietly, with the only sounds emanating from the four-top being the occasional slurps of their drinks and uncomfortable fidgeting, particularly on Rachel's part, until Santana's ringtone cut through the silence.

_Baby you're my everything, you're all I ever – _"Hey sweetheart," the brunette chirped, pressing her phone to her cheek, a wide smile flittering across her cheeks. "Yeah, we're inside. Do you want help with Dylan?" She paused, tucking her bottom lip into her mouth before nodding. "Okay, I'll meet you out there." Santana pushed back from the table, tugging her jacket back on before offering an explanation. "She started doing Pilates at home, so she can build her stamina and strength up for when she goes back to work. She's a little sore." Both women nodded and the photographer returned the gesture before twisting around to meet her wife outside.

"Thank you," Brittany breathed out as her wife leaned into the car and unfastened their child from her car seat. "She's been such a wiggle worm all day." Dylan kicked in Santana's arms as if to prove the point, and the brunette simply pressed a kiss to the little girl's cheek before leaning over to capture her wife's lips in her own.

"More than happy to take over wiggle worm duty," she teased, settling her hand into her daughter's back and holding her tight against her chest to try and minimize the infant's movements. "And just so you're prepared, here's this morning's play-by-play in the I Have Literally No Idea What's Going on Olympics. Andy asked Quinn out, but she hasn't told me what she said. Rachel is in town and desperately needs to talk to you. And – "

"And?" Brittany questioned.

"She's sitting with Q right now in the café, and it sounds like she's coming shopping with us," Santana mumbled. "I'm sorry babe. I know you and Rachel and shopping don't exactly have the best track record."

"As long as you don't send me off with her again in search of formal dresses, I think I'll be fine," the blonde giggled, wrapping an arm around her wife's shoulders and leading them back into the warmth of the café, the slightest tinges of pumpkin spice wrapping around their wind stroked cheeks. "I can't say I would be disappointed if _you _recreated your shopping trip with her though." Santana raised an eyebrow at the blonde's drop in tone, and shook her head laughing before leaning up on her tip toes, connecting their mouths again.

"I'll see what I can do," she whispered against thin lips before striding purposefully back toward the table, watching as Quinn cleared the fourth seat and Rachel excitedly cooed to the infant tucked in Santana's arms.

* * *

"You do realize how ridiculous it is to spend this much money on clothing she'll only be able to wear for a few weeks Berry?"

"She can't outgrow scarves Santana," the other brunette stated matter-of-factly, holding up another pair of socks to Brittany who gushed over the rainbow stripes and nodded enthusiastically. "Besides, I just had another show picked up by a production company. I'm allowed to spoil Dylan a little, I think." She was met with matching shocked looks on her friends' faces, all staring at her wide-eyed with their mouths agape.

"Your show got picked up and you didn't think you ought to share with the class Barbra? Who are you, and what have you done with the overzealous, holier-than-thou, look-at-how-talented-I-am Rachel Berry that we all know and love to be annoyed by?"

"Because I wasn't going to mention anything until I saw Brittany," she shrugged, holding up a pair of cheetah print leggings that the blonde immediately set back down on the shelf.

"Why me?" she questioned casually, flipping through various colors of sweaters, occasionally considering one before continuing her perusing. She lifted a tiny white knit hat with ear flaps, slipping it onto Dylan's head and snuggly over her ears. The infant tugged at one of the strings on the side of her head, leaving the hat askew as she grinned up at her doting mothers, who nodded, unable to contain their own smiles before placing the hat in the bag Quinn was holding.

"Given that it's my first show in Chicago, I felt the need to implement the most paramount level of talent, particularly in the foundation building."

"English Berry," Santana chastised. "Britt and I have become fluent in baby babble, and I'm out of practice with most words more than two syllables." She continued around the store, finding Quinn in the corner, holding a pair of tiny Uggs, in light pink. Despite her distaste for the brand in general, even the photographer couldn't deny that in that size, it would be difficult for any shoe to be unattractive. She tossed the boots into the bag, ruffling her best friend's hair affectionately.

"I want you to choreograph my show," Rachel said seriously, turning to Brittany, who instantaneously dropped the gloves in her hand, coughing out a single syllabic question. "I – I _need _you to choreograph my show Britt. No one else would do it justice."

"I haven't danced in months," the blonde automatically protested. "I'm out of shape, and I have a baby, and –"

"And you're Brittany Lopez-Pierce. Dancing is breathing to you," the woman countered easily. "The production was picked up only a few days ago. We have to find actors, singers, dancers – not to mention a director. All I need is one number to show to my company, and then from there, you have a free pass for a few months before you need to work everything else out and start teaching the cast." She paused, wringing her hands and gnawing at her bottom lip. "Just, please think about it Britt."

The blonde nodded once hesitantly, and then a second time, with much more confidence. "We'll talk about it," she finally said, squeezing her wife's hand before dragging her toward a display of Halloween outfits.

"Do you really think there's a chance she'll do it?" Rachel whispered to the blonde next to her, who simply shrugged, avoiding the woman's desperate attempts at eye contact. "Quinn, have I done something to upset you?"

"Why did you come back Rach?" Her voice cracked considerably, and her hands were shaking, despite the tiny hoodie she grasped in her fingers. "Why?"

"I told you – "

"Your production could have been in any city. Why Chicago? Why not New York? And why now damn it?" Hazel eyes swam with tears as she clutched the garment more tightly, feeling her nails dig into the fabric. "Do you know that you shattered me, like no one ever has before, and no one probably will again? Do you know how hard it is to be around you? Did you really think you could sweep back in and win my heart again?"

"Which question do you want me to start with?" The brunette asked hesitantly, receiving a withering glare in response before Quinn walked off, furiously brushing her palms against her cheeks and heading towards the display Santana and Brittany were giggling over.

"I'm telling Andy yes," Quinn whispered into the brunette's ear before grabbing a pumpkin headband and situating it gently into the curls covering her godchild's head. "Tonight, I'm going to tell him yes."

* * *

"Mija!" Santana exclaimed as the little girl splashed a generous amount of water across her mother's chest. "Sit still," she chuckled, gingerly running soap against the child's skin before rinsing her. The brunette wrapped her daughter into the duck towel Holly had chosen for her, flipping the hood up to cover Dylan's damp curls. The pair meandered into the living room, Santana carefully rubbing the infant's arms and legs dry before fastening her into a clean diaper and tugging a long sleeved onesie over her head. "What are you doing babe?"

Brittany was curled into the corner of the couch, furiously scribbling across a notepad she had settled against her knees. Her tongue was tucked in between her lips and her eyebrows nearly met in the middle before the tension in her face released, realizing she'd been asked a question. "I'm making a pros and cons list." Santana nodded, leaning Dylan back onto one of the large throw pillows before settling in behind her, propped up on her elbow and casually flicking through television channels. "I'm thinking about taking up Rachel's offer."

"I figured as much," the brunette said, smiling softly as she tickled her daughter's stomach. "How would we feel about Mama going back to work mija?" The little girl gurgled a response, her mouth and eyes both wide as she observed her mother leaning over her. Twisting her body slightly, Santana caught her wife's gaze, washing the pair in adoration and pride. "I know you miss dancing sweetheart. Why wouldn't you say yes?"

"I don't want to leave her," she whispered. "No day cares or nannies or – "

"Babe," Santana chuckled, "you act as if I work a nine to five office job. If you have a rehearsal, I can rearrange my schedule – perks of being the boss and all that." Brittany nodded, but seemed wholly unconvinced. "Besides, I have Jordan working for me still, and she graduates in May, so she'll be able to help even more then." She could feel her wife's protests wavering, and continued on. "And if all else fails, I'll take her with me to the studio." She knew she was rambling, but she was prepared to conquer all sides of the argument before her wife could find fault again. "You've wanted to do this since high school Britt. You should do it. It's your dream."

* * *

"_If you could build a house anywhere, anywhere in the world, where would it be?"_

_"I would build a huge tree house with a view of the ocean. There would be a porch that wrapped around it, and a slide that led you into the water, so you'd never burn your toes on the sand." She grinned, pleased with her answer, as she flickered her thumb over the skin beneath it. Staring up into the sky, she formulated her next question. "If you had to eat one thing every day for the rest of your life, what would it be?" She paused, furrowing her eyebrows slightly. "Real food Santana," she interrupted, wiping the smirk off of her girlfriend's face. "Don't be dirty."_

_The brunette huffed out a sigh, receiving a lilting giggle in response before answering. "Anything that you cooked. You make the most amazing food Britt-Britt."_

_"You could too, if you'd go to cooking classes with me," the blonde protested. She'd discovered her culinary prowess extended beyond Italian dishes when her nutrition professor mentioned the cooking classes on campus, encouraging the students to attend them. It had only been two weeks, but thus far, Santana had vehemently refused to accompany her._

_Ignoring the request, the brunette squeezed Brittany's fingers tightly, refocusing her attention. "If you had to pick, would you rather be deaf or blind?"_

_"Blind, obviously," the dancer shrugged. "I thought these were supposed to be hard."_

_"But there is so much you would miss out on – so many beautiful things in the world," Santana argued. _

_Brittany shrugged once more, taking in a deep breath before responding. "I don't need to _see_ the beauty; I can feel it. I can_ feel _the way my body moves when I dance, I can _feel_ how beautiful you are, and I can _feel_ your love. I don't need to see it." Santana curled into her girlfriend's side, nodding slightly, though not entirely convinced, given that she was planning on making a living out of being able to see what others could not, and capturing it. "But if I couldn't hear? I would miss out on all of the music of the world. I would never be able to hear my daughter's laugh or the sound of you singing in the morning when you're in the shower or the rush of the traffic on the street. I would miss that so much more." She leaned over, pressing a kiss to the top of the brunette's head. "What would you be if you couldn't be a photographer?"_

_Santana sighed, increasing the pressure she had against her girlfriend's fingers. "I'd want to be a doctor, like my dad was." Content to shift the conversation once again, she quickly returned her own question, watching as the stars above them twinkled brightly. "What is your dream?"_

_"To raise a family with you," Brittany whispered, staring resolutely upward, so that she didn't see the light flush that covered the brunette's cheeks at those six simple words._

* * *

The blonde's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her mouth before she dropped the notepad and crawled across the cushions of the couch, settling in behind her wife. Brittany wrapped an arm around the brunette's waist, intertwining their fingers and squeezing gently. "I already have my dream though."

* * *

**AN: Here you go beautiful readers. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. :) We've got a good bit of plot development, as the last few chapters have been fluff, fluff, and more fluff, to help heal everyone's hearts. Haha. Let me know what you think, as always, because I appreciate the feedback!**


	17. Chapter 17: Twinkletoes

Tossing her purse onto the side table just inside of the door, Santana allowed her eyes to swim over the contents of her living room, which were sparse to say the least. All of the furniture had been pressed against the walls, leaving the wooden floors bare, save for the insistent pacing of a lanky blonde and the excited kicks of their newborn, who was propped up against a u-shaped pillow. The little girl squirmed in her seat, her feet moving against the floor in time with the pulsating beats echoing from their stereo. The brunette grinned at the pair before shuffling forward, dancing slightly and wiggling her fingers menacingly in her daughter's direction before scooping her off of the floor and pressing kisses against every inch of her chubby cheeks. "Hola mija," she cooed, leaving a last kiss on her forehead before settling the infant back onto the floor and approaching Brittany. "Y para ti tambien mi amor."

The blonde twisted with a bright smile, gripping the back of her wife's neck insistently and connecting their mouths. "I missed you all day," she whispered as they pulled away.

"How could you?" Santana chuckled. "It seems you two were _very _busy while I was gone." Her eyes roamed the furniture again, laughing once more when Brittany's cheeks tinted pink. "I'm assuming you accepted Rachel's offer."

"We're going to try it out. I agreed to choreograph at least the first piece, and see how things go from there, but I haven't dedicated myself to the production just yet." As she spoke, her limbs moved of their own accord, marking the choreography she'd developed previously as the music continued playing. "She'd like me to sit in on the auditions tomorrow. I know you have a lot of editing to do, so I'm going to take Dylan with me."

"Are you sure?" Santana murmured, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. "I mean, there will be so many people, and won't the music bother her?"

Brittany giggled, shaking her head while she reached for the remote that was perched on the arm of the couch. She paused the music, and gestured toward their daughter, whose face had crumpled in a mixture of confusion and frustration. The little girl whimpered, blinking back tears, but the blonde promptly pressed play, and the music began again. Dylan's features smoothed considerably, and she settled back onto her pillow in contentment, wiggling her legs once again, leaving Santana open-mouthed and Brittany fighting a smirk. "She'll be just fine," the blonde chuckled, pressing a kiss to her wife's cheek. "Now what do you want for dinner?"

"I'll cook sweetheart. Keep dancing," she grinned. "I've missed seeing you dance."

Santana headed into the kitchen, lifting several different bags from the refrigerator and beginning to chop the vegetables, tossing them in with the sliced chicken breasts and occasionally sprinkling seasonings over the mixture as it simmered gently and her thoughts wandered.

* * *

_"You can do this. You can _so _do this."_

_"No, Britt. I'll carry all the kids if you just promise not to make me cook. I'll give you foot massages – "_

_"You hate feet Santana."_

_"Exactly. That's how dedicated I am to you cooking dinner every night. I'm going to burn the house down, and then we're going to be homeless. Do you want to be homeless?"_

_Warm arms slipped around her waist, and Brittany's head cradled into her shoulder as she shushed her. "It's just fancy Ramen," she giggled. "Just stir and add this," she continued, pointing towards the olive oil next to the boiling pot of water. "Now throw in the noodles."_

_"I'm not a complete culinary invalid Britt-Britt," the brunette chastised. "I know you need noodles for stir fry."_

_"Well then fancy pants, you obviously don't need any more of my help, do you?" She smacked Santana on the butt before strolling into the living room slowly, a three number countdown playing in her head. Three, two -_

_"Britt!" Her voice was exasperated and borderlining on whiny. "Please come help. I can't do this without you." She flipped around at the stove, slumping into her girlfriend's chest before tugging gently on the necklace that hung between her breasts. "I can't do anything without you."_

_The blonde chuckled, pressing their lips together briefly before easing Santana back toward the simmering pots, slipping her arms around her girlfriend's waist once again and patiently doling out instructions._

* * *

"We'll be in touch," the high, clear voice rang out through the auditorium. Tucking her chin to her chest and sighing in exasperation, Rachel turned to the blonde next to her, leaning away from the microphone at the table. "And by that, I mean that audition was kin to Chinese water torture for my auditory organs."

"His height is terrifying," the pale man on her other side murmured, shivering slightly as his face wore a distinct look of disgust. "No one should be that tall."

"So a swift hell no to Flint? Ben? What was his name?" Brittany scanned her list of potential auditions again before finding the man's name and scribbling an H and N next to his name, noting the majority of the men on the list held the same fate. The only exceptions included a few dancers the blonde had insisted on and an actor she had affectionately named Caterpillar, who both Kurt and Rachel had not found immediate fault with, despite his eyebrows. She leaned over her seat, taking in her now wide-eyed daughter, whose fingers grabbed insistently at the air, asking to be picked up. Dylan had managed to sleep through the morning round of auditions, but they were coming up on lunch, and the little girl was palming Brittany's breast with little concern for their surroundings. "Can you two handle these last few? I'm going to go find an office or something."

"If it doesn't bother you to stay here, it doesn't bother me," Rachel shrugged. "And if it bothers them," she gestured to the empty stage, "then they don't need to be in my production."

"I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable – "

"You're a gorgeous, happily married lesbian," Kurt offered. "In that by itself, you've managed to piss off a good portion of the male population, and make another portion uncomfortable."

Sighing, Brittany nodded, a little unnerved by the support she was receiving from the two people sat beside her, one of whom she'd only known since that morning. The ever fabulous Kurt Hummel, as he'd been officially introduced by Rachel, would be handling the costuming for the majority of the production, but as the brunette's "go-to gay," he'd agreed to sit in and offer his meticulous, if at times scathing opinion of the auditions. They'd met not long ago in New York, whereupon he found her sobbing outside of Tiffany's, stuffing "obscene amounts of carbohydrates in her endearingly loud mouth," after her break-up with Quinn, and had promptly lifted her from the sidewalk, and set about an afternoon of retail therapy. The pair had been essentially inseparable ever since. Smiling to herself when thinking of how chance, or fate, or even God himself had a way of bringing together people when they were unaware of needing one another, as had happened so many years ago between her and her wife, she settled Dylan against her chest, covering her gently with a thin blanket as Rachel began the next audition.

"Santana!" the brunette exclaimed not long after said singer had begun, twisting in her seat excitedly to greet the photographer with a tight hug.

"Hey Berry," she grinned. "Taking care of my girls?" Santana pressed a kiss to the top of her wife's head before slipping her hands in between her shoulders, dutifully working at the tense muscles there.

"I just cannot get over you two," the pale faced man nearly squealed, wringing his hands. "You're like a Liberal Arts Lesbian Barbie doll set, minus the flannel and falafel."

"Does Twinkletoes speak English, or just Barbra?" Santana arched an eyebrow. "Because I can barely handle one Rachel Berry most days, much less a more flamboyant, and frankly better dressed, male version."

"I like her," Kurt murmured, extending his hand. "Kurt Hummel, head of costume development."

"Santana Lopez-Pierce," she easily returned. "It's long overdue that we acquire a boy-gay." She pulled an extra chair from near the table, settling in next to her wife as the rest of the auditions finished, taking hold of her daughter once she'd finished feeding and sitting her up on her lap, one hand tucked around the little girl's stomach as Santana bounced her gently.

* * *

Three solid knocks at the door pulled the brunette from her couch, setting her laptop onto the coffee table and readjusting Dylan's pillow onto the floor so she'd be less likely to roll over and hurt herself. "Hey Q," Santana chirped, throwing her arms around her best friend before ushering her into the kitchen. "What's up?"

"Can we talk?" The brunette nodded, confusion clouding her features.

"Tea?" Quinn echoed her nod, following her best friend into the kitchen and perching herself on the end of the counter as Santana moved around, setting a kettle to boil and removing two mugs from the cabinets. "So, shoot. How is everything? I've been kind of MIA, I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the blonde smiled softly. "Can you be honest with me?"

"Have you ever known me to be anything but?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot for going out with Andy?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and the insecurity was evident in her wavering tone. Her fidgeted with her hands in her lap until the brunette handed her a warm cup of peppermint tea, leftover from Brittany's early months of morning sickness.

"Do you compare him to Rachel?"

She nodded, but her slight smile quickly removed Santana's automatic frown. "It's not so much if he's better or worse at things; I'm just noticing differences. He's much quieter, and really listens. He understands when I need time to myself, and doesn't get upset easily. It's just – "

"Just what Lucy Q?"

"It's hard to tell where he stands with _us_, if there is an us, because he doesn't talk!" Her exclamation was punctuated with both hands thrown into the air, accompanied by a resounding sigh afterward as her shoulders slumped.

"Then ask," Santana chuckled. "Or you know, pounce on him. I'm sure he'll be receptive to that." The blonde shot a glare over her mug, pursing her lips together. "Just talk to him then, seriously. Now is there anything else that Auntie Tana can help you out with?"

Quinn nodded, grinning deviously as she set her cup down. "Pack a bag for Dylan, and go and put on your tightest dress. You and Britt are going out tonight." The brunette's mouth dropped open, and a thousand reasons they shouldn't flew through her head on instinct, jumbling between her ears. "She's ten weeks old; she'll be fine S. You have enough pumped milk to successfully feed _three _infants, and you two both need a night away from mommy-hood – a night to remember how things were before your life revolved around dirty diapers and midnight feedings and shirts that aren't complete without spit up. You need a night to just _be_, and if you can't trust your child with her godmother, who can you trust her with?"

Santana finally nodded, the familiar thrum of excitement building in her veins and the slightest of smiles quirking at the corner of her mouth. She made her way into the bedroom, gingerly lifting Dylan from her bassinet and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It'll be your first sleepover mija," she whispered. "Let's get you ready for Nanny Q." The two women quickly pulled together an overnight bag, stocked fully before settling the infant into the spare car seat they'd kept in the hall closet until now. "Let me double check with Britt before you go, okay?" Quinn nodded, bouncing the little girl in her arms several times, cooing about how much fun they would have. Santana crept back into her bedroom, crawling across the mattress to straddle her wife's sleeping form. She pressed insistent kisses from Brittany's collarbone up to her ear, grinning when she felt a smile grow against her cheek. "We're going out tonight sweetheart. Up, up, up!"

Mind still foggy from her nap, the blonde's brows creased, and her voice was nearer kin to a croak than to the melodic tone the photographer was used to. "We have a baby," she mumbled. "We can't go out." Her head tilted back toward the pillow, and Santana resumed her ministrations, playfully tickling the over warmed skin of her wife's neck.

"Quinn is going to take her for the night, if that's okay with you. She said we deserved a night out." Brittany tugged her mouth to the side, considering the possibility, while the brunette curled into her chest, occasionally nipping at her earlobe in impatience. "I'll make it worth your while," she whispered, running her fingertips beneath the t-shirt the dancer had fallen asleep in.

"Fine," she chuckled, biting back a groan. "I knew eventually this would happen."

"I don't want to leave her either Britt," she stopped her fingers' motions and instead lay her palm flat against her wife's stomach, "but we probably do need a date night. I don't want to forget about the person I fell in love with because all I can focus on is that she's the mother of my child." She nuzzled against the blonde's chest, letting out a soft sigh. "You're so much more than that to me."

"Yeah, me too," Brittany smiled sweetly, pressing a kiss to the brunette's forehead before pulling away and sitting up. "Quinn, you're good to go!" she called, giggling as Santana bounced excitedly on the mattress. "We'll swing by tomorrow morning." Without another word, they heard the front door click shut and both women stood quickly, tripping over one another as they raced toward the bathroom, feeling as though they were in college all over again.

* * *

Santana swirled her drink at the bar, a lazy smile playing on her features before she tilted her head back, allowing the last of her Red Bull and vodka to slip down her throat. She felt a warmth brush against the arm not clasped around her glass and shifted slightly on her bar stool, taking in the new presence. A slender redhead, clad only in a skin tight dress and smirk exuded confidence, resting a hand on the brunette's bare shoulder. "And what's a beautiful girl like you doing sitting alone at the bar?" Her voice was low, but held a breathy quality, and Santana simply shrugged in response, raising her left hand for another drink and allowing her ring to catch what little light existed in the bar. "Ah," the woman grinned, taking in the momentary flash of silver. "Someone let you off your leash tonight. Does that mean you're allowed to dance?" The brunette nodded, smirking slyly before taking hold of the glass placed in front of her and sliding off of her seat, adjusting the hem of her dress before following the redhead toward the center of the floor, her eyes scanning the perimeter for her wife.

"So what's your name?"

Santana shrugged again, before leaning into the woman's ear. "My name shouldn't really matter, should it?" As she pulled away, her left hand worked its way up her body as her mouth found the straw in her drink, pulling a few long sips from the mixture. She ran her fingers through her hair and watched as her dancing partner's eyes roamed up her body, pausing twice before meeting her gaze. "Like what you see?" The redhead nodded, taking a few predatory steps forward to further diminish the space between their bodies before a third voice filled the area.

"Always have," Brittany husked into her wife's ear, settling a hand low on her abdomen and pressing her body flush against Santana's back, swaying her hips back and forth. The redhead flushed at the sudden intrusion, angrily closing the distance between herself and the brunette.

"Back the fuck off Barbie," she growled, her annoyance clearly etched into her features.

"Oh, not very friendly are we," the dancer chuckled condescendingly. "Thought you were taking her home, did you?" A single eyebrow arched in amusement and her grip on Santana's waist tightened and her hips moved more steadily against her wife's back. The woman simply glowered in response, watching as Brittany nipped at the brunette's neck, leaving the lightest traces of a forming bruise. They raised their intertwined hands, flashing their rings simultaneously. "Better luck next time." She flipped Santana in her arms as the redhead stalked off, pressing their mouths together insistently and tugging on the brunette's bottom lip when she finally pulled away. "That's even more fun than it was in college," she giggled. "The rings are a nice touch."

"Just a reminder of how undeniably sexy my _wife _is when she's jealous."

"I was _not_jealous," Brittany scoffed. "Jealousy would imply that there was a legitimate threat, though I am slightly concerned with the number of redheads who've hit on you recently. I think there was a ginger convention, and they decided collectively on you as their latest sacrifice."

Santana tilted up, leaving a hot kiss on the corner of her wife's mouth, effectively silencing her conspiracy theory before leaning into her shoulder as they continued moving against one another. "How about I buy you one last drink, take you home, and have my way with you?"

Feigning mock insult, Brittany pressed her hand to her chest dramatically. "You think I'm that easy?"

"I'm certainly hoping so," the brunette winked, intertwining their fingers and tugging her wife toward the bar.

* * *

"Britt, what are you doing?" Santana murmured into her pillow, snuggling her neck into the comforter to shield herself from the insistent kisses being pressed along the skin there.

"Trying to break a record," she whispered cheekily, moving her mouth along any and all exposed caramel.

"You're going to kill me," the brunette moaned. "If I knew Zumba would increase your stamina _this _much, I might have considered doing the workouts with you. Consider the record broken. I'm not sure my body will ever recover from last night."

"How about this? I make coffee, bring you breakfast in bed, and then you reconsider before we head over to Quinn's to get our little one. How's that sound?"

Santana nodded, smiling slightly before rolling over and situating their mouths together for a last lingering kiss before her wife climbed out of bed, donning only a hoodie as she made her way into the kitchen. The grin didn't leave her features as she curled back into the sheets, humming absentmindedly as she listened to distinct, yet familiar sounds of Brittany beginning the morning's coffee. Unrelenting buzzing interrupted her post-coital haze, and she reached toward the bedside table lazily, sliding her thumb across the screen to answer the call. "Hey Lucy Q. We'll be heading – "

"Can you come now?"

"We were going to – "

"I'm probably freaking out over nothing, but – "

"Quinn, not the best way to start a story. Is Dylan okay? What happened?" Santana's mind immediately pedaled past reason and logic and straight into terrifying territory. She hadn't realized how truly overactive her imagination could be until her child was in potential danger, and it took all the strength she possessed to focus on her best friend's words in her ears.

"She just has a fever. I made sure not to bundle her up too much, and Google says it shouldn't be a concern unless it's over 100.2, but – "

"We'll be there in ten," she murmured, already out of bed and slipping into a pair of yoga pants. Sharp cries sounded in the background of the other line and her jaw clenched automatically as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. "Make it five," she corrected. "We'll be there in five."

* * *

**AN: I'm sorry there was such a stretch between updates. I had a full weekend, a rousing dose of writer's block, and two huge tests yesterday, so I apologize. I'll try and get the next chapter up more quickly. As always, I hope you enjoyed it. **


	18. Chapter 18: Ready to Find Nemo

"Sweetheart, if we get in a wreck, we're never going to get to her." Infinitely more calm than her wife, Brittany soothingly ran her fingers down the brunette's arm, wishing she'd insisted on driving. "It's just a fever. I'm sure she's fine."

"It's not just a fever Britt." The blonde's eyebrows furrowed, but she remained silent as Santana pulled up outside of Quinn's complex, barely shifting into park before unbuckling her seatbelt and dashing madly toward the front door. She watched as her wife tore up the three flights of stairs, following behind at a much less frenzied pace. The door to the other blonde's apartment flew open, with the photographer calling wildly for Quinn, frustrated by the lack of immediate response. Brittany pressed a hand to her wife's lower back, silently requesting that she calm down as she worried that the tension exuding off of the brunette in waves would upset their daughter. She nodded towards the light spilling into the hallway from the bathroom, applying the lightest amount of pressure to Santana's spine to urge her into motion. The photographer automatically gripped her wife's hand before surging forward, her movements jerky, but rooted in determination as she pressed open the door to find a straggled blonde conscientiously running water over her daughter's small frame. She was precise in her motions, continually dipping the cloth into the bath tub before squeezing it against Dylan's skin, humming softly under her breath to sooth the infant, who was a far cry from her earlier screams. "Hey," Santana whispered from the doorframe, realizing once more that she'd chosen wisely in whom ought to be her child's godmother. "How is she?"

"Her fever has come down some," the blonde replied in the same low tone, running the washcloth over the child's skin once more before gesturing toward the towel on the toilet seat, silently asking for Dylan to be removed from the bathtub. Santana leaned over, lifting her daughter from the lukewarm water and immediately cradling her in her arms. She blew raspberries against her stomach, hoping for a chuckle, or perhaps, at the very least, a small smile, but received nothing more than a miserable pout, nearly identical to that of Brittany's when she was ill. The child's heavy eyelids were fluttering shut repeatedly, though she fought to stay awake. Fastening the tabs of the diaper against her stomach and enveloping Dylan in her clothing, which was for the first time not fought, she held the little girl to her chest, rocking her gently as she hummed what sounded like a waltz.

"I would have thought you would be the one losing your head," Quinn admitted, "being that you're the one who held her for six months." She watched as Santana paced the living room, her grip on the infant not loosening as she meandered, hushing her quietly.

"I think that's why it's hit her so hard," the other blonde shrugged, observing her wife's instinctual need to keep their child from any and all harm. "I kept her safe as long as I could, and I think Santana feels that it's her turn. I think she wants to protect her from the world, to make sure that nothing can ever hurt her. You know how she is with control; when she loses it, she's a wreck."

"And with her parents – "

Brittany simply nodded, folding her arms against her chest before leaning back against the wall. "No one was there to protect her when she was young, and she's overcompensating. I know Q, I know."

Santana pressed her mouth against Dylan's forehead, the thin layer of sweat causing her lips to slip against the soft skin there. "Where's your thermometer?" she asked quietly, wrapping her arms more firmly around her daughter's body.

"I checked her temperature right before you – " Brittany shook her head slightly, cutting the other blonde off, to which Quinn nodded, heading toward the bathroom. "I'll get it."

The dancer remained against the wall, scrutinizing her fingernails in excruciating detail when a sharp cry pierced through the dedicated whimpers the infant had been releasing. Santana's eyes widened, and she resumed her swaying, hoping to sooth her daughter's cries to no avail as her wife clutched at her breast bone, feeling it crack open, allowing the tightly contained anguish to flood her muscles and bones. Any form of verbal protest, particularly at that decibel level, was atypical, given that Dylan very rarely did much more than gurgle and babble at her mothers, only reducing herself to mild complaints if absolutely necessary. Tears built at the corner of the brunette's eyes as she began bouncing the child lightly, her pained wailing seemingly unceasing.

"She's feeding off of your stress," Brittany offered quietly, intent to avoid eye contact. "She can tell you're upset and it's upsetting her. Let me see," she asked tentatively, extending her arms. Santana hesitated before shifting her daughter from her arms to her wife's, the ache in her chest multiplying as Dylan easily folded against the blonde's chest, her screams diminishing almost instantly. "Hey beautiful girl," she cooed. "You're okay. We're okay. Mami's just worried about you sweetheart," Brittany murmured.

Quinn swept back in, extending her arm to hand the thermometer to the other blonde, who tucked it into the infant's ear, waiting impatiently for the triple beep to reassure them that their daughter would be just fine. "99.1," The dancer finally announced, feeling the weight pressing down upon her shoulders lift slightly. "Baby girl will be all right. Just a little scare," she cooed in the soft, dark curls atop Dylan's head. "Q, do you have another bottle for her?" Her tone was low, nearly whispered.

"Yeah, but couldn't you just – "

"Could you warm it up for me please?" She sent a small smile toward her best friend, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, and once more, the other blonde left the couple alone. Brittany sidled over to her wife, settling into the cushions of the couch and nudging her arm gently so their child could switch hands again. "It's okay to worry Santana," she whispered.

"I just didn't think it would be this hard." The brunette's voice was raspy, thick with the emotion brimming in her chest. She traced her finger across Dylan's cheek, tenderly caressing the skin there. "Since the very beginning, I've worried. I try so, so hard not to focus on that, but some days it's hard. Knowing there are things I can't protect her from is terrifying when all I want is to keep her safe."

"You're going to worry sometimes sweetheart," Brittany murmured, slipping her arm around her wife's waist and tugging her closer.

"I don't want to miss out on the incredible things because I'm too caught up in what _could _happen though."

"Well," the blonde began, scrunching her brow slightly, "what are we going to do about that?" Santana echoed the fourth word in disbelief and Brittany nodded confidently. "You're my best friend, my wife, and the mother of my child. If there's something I can do to make things easier on you, I'll do that. We're in this together, remember?" She intertwined their fingers, squeezing once gently. "So what are we going to do?"

The silence was palpable as the blonde awaited a response. "I don't know Britt," Santana finally admitted, her tone low, bordering on defeated.

"Would you think about talking to someone?" It was a long shot, and the dancer was well aware of that, but this inherent, naturalistic tendency toward anxiety that her wife had was a condition that had built a solid foundation over ten years ago. As strong as the brunette could be, her fragility and pedantically vulnerable inclinations were not far beneath that phantom of strength.

"I don't know." Her gaze fell to the small being in her arms, intent on nothing more than fisting the material of her mother's shirt in her fingers. "A part of me doesn't want to sit on a couch and spill all of my secrets to a complete stranger, but another part – a bigger part – wants to be the best that I can be for Dylan." Releasing her wife's hand, Santana ran her fingers slowly through the top of her hair, though her line of vision didn't falter from the bright blue eyes staring directly up at her, confident in her protection, radiating nothing short of unconditional love. "And maybe I need to talk to someone to be that for her – to be everything she deserves in a mother."

"We'll try it, and if you don't feel comfortable, you don't have to keep going, okay?" The brunette nodded hesitantly, sending her wife a wan smile as Quinn walked back into the living room with a warmed bottle for the little girl and two mugs of coffee for her best friends. "I love you," Brittany whispered, handing the bottle over and pressing a kiss to Santana's forehead.

"I love you too Britt."

* * *

The air felt hot, overwarm in the worst possible way, and she felt cords twisting around her limbs, pinning her down. A firm weight sat against her chest, and try as she might, thrashing against the ground got her nowhere. She watched as her wife and daughter slipped further from reach, waving jovially as they meandered down the hallway, stealing all of the light from the room and leaving her a panting, sobbing mess on this unfamiliar floor in this unfamiliar room. The weight on her chest magnified, now coupled with a heaviness settling into her legs, and before her heart could choke out another anguished sob, water rushed over her, soaking her frame and coating her skin in confusingly pleasant warmth. Her thoughts raced, as she felt sure she would drown, but instead, the water ate at her bindings, releasing her sore wrists and allowing her to float up past the crest of the waves. She was engulfed by a blinding light, and after her eyes adjusted, they focused on Brittany and Dylan, just yards away on the shore, impatiently awaiting her arrival. Her daughter, now years older, flung small arms around her waist, knocking her into the sand and casually resting her head against Santana's chest. "Hola Mami. Le hemos estado esperando."

The brunette jolted slightly against her pillow, feeling the brightness of the morning pierce through her still tightly clenched eyelids. The weight still pressed into her body, and she fought against the panic creeping through her veins, taking a few deep breaths before facing reality. She hesitantly opened one eye, then chuckling, did the same with the other almost immediately. Brittany sat, straddling her hips and holding Dylan up, where the infant was perched on Santana's sternum.

"Good morning beautiful. We've been waiting for you to wake up."

The brunette hummed her approval, a small smile playing over her lips. "Why?" she croaked out, her grin not faltering.

"I thought we could maybe take Dylan to the aquarium." The bright, unhindered excitement in Brittany's eyes transferred to her wife, and Santana nodded in agreement as she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position underneath the combined weight of the two blue eyed girls on top of her. "It's supposed to be really soothing for babies, and I thought maybe it would help you relax too," she continued, her voice a little less confident.

"You're sweet," the brunette stated simply, taking hold of their daughter so that she could sit up properly, placing a lingering _good-morning-you're-the-most-incredible-woman-I-could-ever-hope-to-have _kiss on Brittany's lips, pulling back only to place their mouths back together several more times. "Are we ready to find Nemo mija?" Santana cooed, grinning as Dylan babbled in response, her feet kicking in her own representation of what they assumed to be excitement. "Let's all go get ready then."

It was their first outing as a family that didn't consist of grocery shopping, a quick meal, or a trip to Quinn's apartment, and when they'd finally made it out of the front door, double checking that it was locked behind them, Santana silently thanked every god and goddess she could remember from her mythology courses in college that she'd had the foresight to insist on leaving Dylan's stroller in the back of her Jeep indefinitely. She was struggling against the weight of a full to bursting diaper bag, Brittany's purse, and her own camera bag, and throwing any additional items into the fray would have been perpetual madness.

Settling everything back into some semblance of normalcy once out of the car was the third battle of the day, after spending the fifteen minutes prior to leaving fighting to dress their daughter who'd recently discovered she'd much rather spend her time naked, a trait she'd clearly enough inherited from Brittany. Finally tucking the diaper bag underneath the stroller, Santana rolled her shoulders back and let a long puff of air escape her cheeks. "Can we take a nap now?" The blonde merely chuckled and shook her head slightly, intertwining their fingers on one hand and pushing Dylan's stroller with the other. "I didn't think a day out would be this exhausting. Our first vacation is going to be the death of me."

"Start packing now then. Everyone wants us home for Thanksgiving." The brunette groaned, burying her face into her wife's shoulder as they approached the ticket booth just to the right of the entrance. "Two adults and one child," she stated before dropping down to retrieve her wallet from beneath the stroller.

"Kids under two get in free," the attendant deadpanned, slipping one earphone out of his ear as he took Brittany's credit card. Handing it back, he readjusted his cap, emblazoned with Shedd Aquarium and a tiny school of fish. "You ladies enjoy your day. Have a _whale _of a time!"

"I would literally strangle my boss with my bare hands if I had to say that to every customer," Santana said as they made their way through the entrance, earning a glare from a couple to their left who each held the hand of a boy about four years old.

"Santana," the blonde chastised, "we are in a family environment, surrounded by children, so you –"

"Need to be on my better than best behavior, and keep the profanity between the levels of zero and none at all," the photographer recited dutifully. "I know, I know." She leaned into the stroller, lifting Dylan up and settling her as well as she could against her hip, intent on beginning their tour of the aquarium before she managed to stick her other foot in her mouth as well.

* * *

"Mija, look," she cooed, pointing toward the glass surrounding the penguin exposure, watching as her daughter's eyes, bluer than much of the water they'd passed by and underneath, widened and she began wiggling violently in Santana's arms. For once, her legs were still, and the brunette was thankful, as she'd received several stronger than anticipated kicks to the stomach in recent weeks. Her torso shifted left and right, as if she were mimicking the motions of the animals just feet away from them, and neither woman could contain their chuckles as their daughter beamed at them, thoroughly proud of her discovery. "So smart," she murmured, nuzzling into Dylan's neck and provoking the infant's own bubbles of laughter to erupt as Santana blew a raspberry onto her cheek.

"Come on, dance some more baby girl," Brittany encouraged her, stepping around the stroller to stand to  
her wife's left side, wrapping an arm loosely around her waist. The infant wrapped her hand around a finger on the blonde's free hand, and began wriggling once more, giggling uncontrollably for a moment before lifting a curled fist to her mouth and yawning widely.

"Someone's going to crash soon," Santana murmured.

"Honestly I'm surprised she's made it this far," Brittany added, running a hand down Dylan's back. "Split chicken nuggets with me before we leave? They're in the shape of sharks," she sing songed, nudging her wife playfully. The brunette grinned and whispered an affirmation, leaning further into the dancer's strong arms as they made their way toward the café within the aquarium, their daughter nodding off between them both.

xxx

The couple lay side by side, grasping hands but remaining wholly silent, save for the puffs of air echoing against the walls in place of their typical whispers before falling asleep. The bed shifted as Brittany rolled over, managing to maintain her grip on her wife's hand as she propped herself up on her free arm. "Are you nervous about tomorrow?"

"Yeah," the brunette nodded, her eyes still fixated on the ceiling until she expounded upon her answer. "I'm nervous that she'll think I'm crazy. I'm nervous that she won't be able to help. I'm nervous about opening up to someone who isn't you. But more than that, and probably most of all, I'm nervous about how I'll feel _after_– like I'm weak." The silence returned, coating both women in a thick, nearly stifling blanket, too warm for that September night.

"You're the strongest person I know," the blonde finally whispered, squeezing Santana's hand to emphasize her point before dropping flat on her stomach and curling into her wife's side. She traced circles against the sliver of caramel skin visible just above the boy shorts the photographer wore, flattening her hand moments later and sliding her palm up and around Santana's waist, letting it rest on her ribs.

"I love you," the brunette whispered, overwrought by emotions and incapable of determining another way to express her eternal gratitude for Brittany's belief in her and all that she was. "Thank you for today."

"You never have to thank me sweetheart."

"I know," Santana continued, her voice still low as she pulled the blonde millimeters closer, "but every day when I wake up to your bright blue eyes, I'm reminded of how lucky I am. Sometimes you need to be reminded of how lucky I am too."

"You're delirious," the dancer murmured, fighting against a yawn, "but sweet, very sweet. Now go to sleep Casanova." Nodding, the brunette pressed a kiss to the top of her wife's head before snuggling further into the comforter and slipping into a much deeper sleep than she had experienced in months.

* * *

**AN: I've got the usual excuses. I do however apologize for parts of this chapter being a bit heavier. I will warn you ahead of time, there will be a bit of a rough patch for our Lopez-Pierce family, but it is nothing out of left field, nor will it be a smash your laptop against a wall, cry anguished tears sort of angst. I just felt you deserved a head's up. Also an apology for any issues with the formatting of this chapter, as I was having serious issues with my line breaks when in the doc manager. **

**As always, thank you for your beautiful, beautiful words. Please don't ever hesitate to leave comments, suggestions, or general reviews, and if you have any questions, PMs work as well. :)**


	19. Chapter 19: Later is Perfect

Brittany leaned into one last kiss, folding her wife into her arms to extend the contact. As she slipped an arm around the brunette's waist, a familiar corner caught her wrist, scraping it slightly and she frowned as she pulled away. Santana's face remained blank, feigning innocence while silently pleading for mercy. "I should be really upset with you," the dancer murmured, slipping her hand into her wife's pocket and retrieving the pack of cigarettes there, holding them up as if to prove a point, "but I'm not. I'd really, _really _prefer that you didn't, but I understand why they're there."

"It's just in case," she faltered, "but I won't ever smoke around Dylan. You know that." She twisted slightly, watching her daughter as she slapped her palms happily against the floor, snug in the U-shaped pillow, now nearly unnecessary. The infant looked up, meeting her mother's eye contact and began cooing incomprehensibly, a wide, toothless smile etched into her chubby cheeks.

"That's part of the reason I'm not quite as upset as I probably should be," Brittany replied easily, removing her own gaze from the little girl and meeting chocolate eyes once more. "Do you want to stop by the theater after your session? We're finishing up the callbacks and running through some choreography with the dancers, but I can sneak out for an early lunch." Her bright grin, one filled with attempts at reassurance and an overwhelming amount of confidence in the quaking brunette in front of her, returned as she slid her hands into her wife's, swinging them back and forth casually.

Santana hesitated momentarily, swallowing back the automatic reaction that built in her gut and told her to apply a mask of strength, firm in the knowledge that she would be emotionally sound after her appointment. "I don't know B," she finally managed. "I'll see how I feel when I get out, if that's okay?" The blonde nodded, her smile only faltering slightly as a similar feeling tugged in her stomach, one of nervous energy and warranted uneasiness. "I love you both," she murmured, pressing a kiss to Brittany's freckled cheek and blowing another in her daughter's direction before squaring her shoulders, tossing her bag across her chest and readjusting her scarf as she took the five flights of stairs with heavy footsteps and an erratic heartbeat.

* * *

"Britt? Brittany?" The exasperation in Rachel's tone was evident as she consistently repeated her choreographer's name, leaning into one hip as she perched Dylan against her waist. "Brittany Susan Lopez-Pierce!" Her voice was shrill, and the infant whimpered, tucking one ear into the brunette's chest, trying to muffle the decibel level.

"Rachel, give me the child please," Kurt said slowly, moving hesitantly toward her as her cheeks flushed with more color with each passing second. "You need to breathe, and possibly do some meditative vocal runs. I'll get one of your interns to get you a soy latte, and I will _personally_go and find our AWOL blonde." He lifted Dylan from the woman's arms, settling her gently against his own hip before running a soothing hand down Rachel's back. The brunette immediately stalked off, mumbling under her breath as Kurt moved up the stairs to the right of the stage and down the backstage hallways, peering into the open dressing rooms until he spotted the dancer. Brittany was tucked into the corner of a ratty couch, eyes squeezed tightly shut and earphones settled over both ears. He faltered for a second before crossing the room and perching on the arm of the sofa, resting a hand on her shoulder. She jolted, cursing under her breath before sliding the headphones off and taking in his concerned gaze.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She shook her head, shifting her gaze downward and fiddling with her fingers in her lap. "Do you want to perhaps not talk about it, and instead come and teach our chorus line the opening dance?"

Flipping her wrist over, she checked the time on her watch and cursed again. "Rachel is going to kill me."

"I'm sure if you explained – " She shook her head once more, but stood up to walk toward the stage, stopping only when a pale hand encircled her forearm. "Are you and Santana all right?"

"She and I are fine," Brittany reassured him, her voice soft in an attempt to downplay the quivering of her heart she felt was sure to coat her words. Kurt quirked an eyebrow in disbelief as his light eyes flicked across the dancer's face, scrutinizing her features for dishonesty. "My marriage is _just fine_," she emphasized a second time, letting out a tense breath in relief when the man nodded before gesturing toward the dressing room's door and ushering her out.

* * *

The leather squeaked beneath her thighs as she shifted uncomfortably in her chair, chocolate eyes darting nervously as she cataloged the counselor's every movement, a strong buzzing flooding her brain. As the doctor finally settled into the chair across from Santana, the brunette's thumb nail surged toward her mouth as if it were magnetized, wedging itself between her lips, though she bit down only once. Her left leg bounced beneath her, jiggling her right from the knee down until she tucked both beneath her. She watched her psychologist carefully, her eyes wide as the other woman shuffled through the stack of tests she'd taken before entering her office.

Flipping the file closed, Dr. Goodwin peered up at her patient over the top of her glasses, hazel eyes soft and lined with the beginning traces of wrinkles. Santana felt her body sink further into the leather of the chair without her consent, the counselor's warm gaze reminding her of her foster mother. "So Mrs. Lopez-Pierce –"

"Santana, please."

The other woman nodded, jotting another note at the top of the folder. Leaning forward, the psychologist lifted her glasses from the tip of her nose and crossed her arms, allowing them to rest on her knees. "So Santana, why don't you tell me why we're here today. Tell me a bit about your life presently."

"I'm a photographer," she began hesitantly, unsure of what information the woman across from her desired or anticipated. "I have an eleven week old daughter, and my partner and I will celebrate our second anniversary this November. We've been together since high school." Dr. Goodwin nodded again, returning her bifocals to her nose and scribbling more notes. "What are you writing?" Santana frowned. "I've barely said three sentences."

The psychologist smiled softly, catching the brunette's eyes. "What is your _partner's _name?"

The extra emphasis on the second to last word catalyzed a burn to rush over the photographer's cheeks. "Brittany."

"Lovely." Another note was jotted down and the woman continued speaking without looking up. "When did you recognize within yourself that perhaps your sexuality was different than those around you?"

"I knew I was gay when I was very young. I didn't have a word for it, but I understood that I wasn't interested in boys like other girls, and my parents were never less than supportive."

Dr. Goodwin hummed thoughtfully, nodding again. "And would you say that you are comfortable with your sexuality? If we were to implement a ten-point scale, where would you rank yourself?"

Santana tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, scrunching her brow slightly as she considered the question. "In the privacy of my home, or when I'm surrounded by family and friends, easily a 9.8, but I do screen myself around people I don't know well on occasion, so maybe an 8?" Her tone lilted at the end and she shook her head, trying to clear out the residual buzzing in her ears. "I have no problem showing affection toward my wife, but I know that some people can be provoked to say hurtful things, so at times I censor myself – to protect Britt."

"Do you find that is something you spend a lot of time doing?"

"Protecting my wife?" The psychologist nodded. "Of course." Dr. Goodwin watched as the brunette set her jaw, her spine automatically tensing.

"Do you worry about her and your daughter often?" Santana returned the nod, her body language shifting further. "Do you allow it to consume you?" The photographer froze before deflating, whispering out an almost inaudible _yes. _

* * *

She felt the earth slow as she crashed into it, clutching her ankle and hissing in pain when her body made contact with the ground. It was a simple enough turn combination, and she'd yet to land it, given that she could barely focus her thoughts, much less maintain steady eye contact in order to spot her pirouettes. Slowly easing herself back into a standing position, she leaned her weight onto her uninjured foot, settling her hands onto her waist. "Just do the double into four fouettés, and come out into a pas de bourree and a side straddle, okay? Practice it on your own a few times if you need, and we'll add that to the end of the choreography. Take fifteen, everyone." Brittany rolled her ankle a few times, hoping to keep it from stiffening immediately, and crossed the stage to where Kurt stood, eyes scrutinizing the practicing dancers as she retrieved her water bottle and sipped at it leisurely.

"Where is your head today?" he questioned as she shrugged on her hoodie, allowing it to hang loosely on her frame. "When Quinn came to pick up Dylan, even she didn't know what was going on with you." The blonde ignored the inquisition, tucking her headphones back over her ears and folding over into a butterfly position to stretch before returning to her chorus line.

* * *

"I think that will be it for today. I didn't want to overwhelm you with your first session." Santana's breathless declaration of gratitude was a quiet whisper. "If you think you'd like to come back and perhaps delve into some deeper issues, we'll set up an appointment in three weeks to see how you're coming along."

"Okay," she nodded, feeling as if she'd been catapulted back twenty years in time, as she stood in front of her counselor with less confidence than her five year old self had possessed. She carefully folded the sheets of paper she'd been handed and slipped them into her bag, stepping toward the receptionist in the front of the building to write a check and schedule a second session. Her movements were mechanical, as if she'd lost the ability to function emotionally, and she barely managed a quirk of her lips in response to the secretary's jovial goodbye. She stepped out of the building and the sun, despite the cool air of the city, felt as if it were bearing down on her shoulders and hers alone as she moved toward her vehicle. Reaching into her pocket for her keys, her fingertips hit the soft side of her cigarette pack and she internally debated lighting one, so she could air out some of the scent from her jacket before meeting her wife. Santana shook her head slightly, retrieving her keys and unlocking the driver's side door whereupon she climbed in, collapsing against the steering wheel. Her body wrenched with the power of the sobs driving through her and she hit the console repeatedly, desiring not much more than inflicting physical damage against the inanimate object closest to her. Her chest ached, her limbs shook, and she was sure her makeup had been ruined within the few minutes she'd been crying. The car felt prisonesque, and wiping roughly at her face, she rolled down the windows, hoping the cool breeze would sooth her raw cheeks and the open space would draw her back from the claustrophobia entangling itself within her bones.

_When it all gets to be too much, you need to remember to take a few deep breaths before reacting. _

Her counselor's words rang through her skull, bouncing off of the nerve endings that were misfiring repeatedly, sending pain coursing through her body. She nodded once to herself, focusing on nothing aside from her attempts at steady breaths. Her lungs expanded, and the lightheadedness that had flooded her diminished, if only minimally. She continued, her inhales and exhales becoming more and more even and her hands more steady. Plugging the auxiliary cord into her phone, she allowed the rough chords of cellos and smooth accents of violins calm the remains of her ravaged nerves as she shifted out of park, slowly merging into traffic toward her wife.

She pulled up to the theater minutes later, thankful that her time enclosed in her vehicle had been limited, and slipped in the back door of the auditorium as had become her habit. She scanned the stage and saw Brittany, patiently instructing her dancers, exemplifying the choreography repeatedly, though her movements lacked her typical grace. She saw Kurt to the left, one arm crossing his chest and cupping his elbow while the other sat perpendicular, allowing his fingertips to rest against his chin. His posture indicated unwarranted worry, and his expression held unbridled sympathy as his gaze flickered over Brittany's body. Rachel sat dead center in the auditorium, her head in her hands as she murmured under her breath. Santana moved quietly toward the other brunette, hoping to remain wholly unseen, slipping into the seat at the star's side. "How's rehearsal?" she whispered, not wanting to interrupt the run through currently being orchestrated.

"How's rehearsal?" She barked out a laugh. "Rehearsal has been a combination of searching for your wife, watching her fall out of simple combinations, and excessive water breaks. That's how rehearsal has been, thank you very much." Santana sat silently, ingesting the words as they flew towards her, harsh and unrelenting. "I don't know what you did to upset her, but you need to buy her some flowers and apologize, because I simply _cannot _work like this. I refuse to. After this run through, I'm sending her home for the day." The photographer's throat still found no response, and what little moisture lay there was quickly being suctioned away. "I don't know what you did, but you need to fix this, or I'll have to look for another choreographer. There's no way the show will open on time if Brittany continues like this."

Blinking back tears, Santana nodded, whispering out an affirmation before standing and making her way through the double doors leading to the auditorium, falling to her knees as soon as she'd made it into the carpeted hallway. She leaned back against the wall, tucking her legs to her chest as she let the sobs rip through her a second time. Her hair hung limply around her, as if it too had been defeated, and she hid beneath that dark curtain, making no attempts to muffle her anguished gasps for air as they cracked through her chest.

"Santana?" A soft voice sounded from behind her, but she refused to look up, to acknowledge the person speaking. "Sweetheart, you have to breathe." She felt warm hands encompass her own, squeezing gently as a kiss was pressed to her forehead. The brunette fought the urge to fall into her wife's arms, the inherent felt need to protect Brittany, even if it were at times from herself, was so deeply ingrained within her, that the automatic reaction was to pull away, so her emotional breakdowns didn't further affect the dancer.

"Look at me," she murmured, and Santana shook her head immediately in refusal. "Damn it, Santana Marie. Look at me." The second request held much more frustration, and the brunette tilted her gaze up millimeters, so their eyes caught. "It is impossible for you to do this on your own. I don't know what happened at your session, and I'm not going to ask, because I know you won't say anything until you're ready. Regardless of what was said, or done, or decided though, you can't push me away."

"_Anything that happens from now on, I'm with you. You need me to let me be there for you_," Santana murmured, quoting the blonde's words from after Jack had been arrested.

"Exactly," Brittany whispered, pressing a firmer kiss against the caramel skin furrowed against her wife's forehead. "Now, do you want to talk now, or later?"

"Later, if that's okay."

"Later is perfect."

* * *

**AN: I'll just leave this here, with little in terms of an author's note. Please let me know what you thought; your comments and criticisms are always appreciated. **


	20. Chapter 20: Elf Carpenters

Brittany slipped her arms around her wife's waist, an elbow connecting with her stomach as the brunette jolted against her touch. "It's just me," she murmured softly, nestling her head into the crook of Santana's neck and ignoring the sudden flashes of pain that reared up in both her gut and the crevice of her chest.

The photographer allowed her weight to fall back slightly, supported by the blonde's unwavering strength, and she recalled her counselor's words once more, inhaling deeply and relishing in the familiar citrus wafting around her. "I'm sorry," she whispered back. Brittany nodded against her shoulder before pressing her hips forward, pushing her wife's legs to move toward their en suite bathroom. She lifted the petite brunette onto the counter, leaving a lingering kiss on her forehead before twisting the faucets of the tub catalyzing an explosion of heat to begin building in the small space, steaming the mirror behind Santana. The dancer mixed in a handful of bath salts, the spearmint and eucalyptus fighting against the overpowering bright, summer morning that was Brittany. Shedding her clothing, she stood bare in front of her wife for moments before tucking her hands near the hem of Santana's shirt, waiting for a hesitant nod before continuing. The brunette slipped off of the counter and out of the rest of her clothing, her legs shaky beneath her weight before she tugged at Brittany's hand insistently, pulling them both into the warmth of the water where they felt the day's tension melting away as their bodies molded together.

"She gave me prescriptions." The words were soft, coated in the heat of the air, but despite the soothing liquid surrounding them, Brittany felt her chest crack open, worry filling her veins.

"For what?" She kept her voice low as well, trying to maintain the semblance of tranquility they were afforded by the quiet. Her arms unconsciously wrapped around the brunette's body, pulling her more closely to Brittany's chest.

"An antidepressant and an antianxiety. I haven't filled them though." The questioning _why _hung in the air and Santana folded further into her wife's body, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she continued. "I don't want to have to take medication to be able to make it through my day."

"Well, Dr. Goodwin didn't say it was an indefinite solution, did she?" The photographer shook her head, but chose not to elaborate. She instead focused her attention on the creamy thighs on either side of her torso, tracing circles into the flesh there. Brittany's hands ran up her biceps before swimming across the warm skin of her wife's back, settling into between her shoulder blades and massaging dutifully. "I think you should try it, until we can find better outlets for you."

After a prolonged period of silence, punctuated only by the sloshing water around them, Santana nodded, tilting her head backward to press a kiss against the underside of the blonde's jaw. "There's something I want to show you." For the first time that day, her words held the lightest tinges of confidence, of pride, and Brittany knew it was imperative that she cultivate those few and far between flashes of positivity. They both pulled themselves from the comforting heat of the bathtub, and the blonde couldn't help but feel her chest fill when Santana silently asked to be dried off. The seemingly insignificant task held within it a pleading for protection and a sliver of unhindered trust, as the petite brunette allowed her wife, for the first time in a long time, to take care of her. Slipping into sweatpants and an oversized sweater each, the photographer dug through her bag, retrieving a simple marble composition book, handing it to Brittany hesitantly before crawling into bed across from the blonde, crossing her legs beneath her.

The blonde chuckled as she flipped the notebook open, seeing her wife's perfectly curved handwriting splayed across the first page, boasting the lyrics to Don't Worry, Be Happy, with a photograph of their family beneath it. In nearly miniscule print underneath, it read "We all have our reasons," and blue eyes lifted to meet Santana's, washing her in an unspoken wave of adoration. She arched an eyebrow, and the brunette nodded, gesturing to flip to the next page.

There, in painstaking cursive, lay a bulleted list, standing out against the light blue lines of the sheet of paper. "This is beautiful sweetheart." She traced a revelatory fingertip against the splayed confessions filling the notebook. She clears her throat, readying herself to dictate the words, and grins when she sees a slight flush cover Santana's cheeks. "_Three in the morning when I rock my daughter back to sleep, Sunday mornings when all we do is lay in bed cuddling, watching Brittany while she gets ready in the morning – _what are these?" The sentiment was glorious, but despite reading down the list, the blonde couldn't find a tangible connector between the everyday events.

"Dr. Goodwin asked me to make a list of 'safe places,' times throughout the day when worry doesn't, and can't, touch me." Santana peered up at her wife bashfully, hiding beneath the curtain of her eyelashes. "Almost all of those times are related to you and Dylan."

"Almost all of them?" Brittany teased, poking her wife in the ribs and chuckling slightly.

"The only one that isn't is when I'm in the dark room," she admitted, scooting closer to the blonde and curling into her lap, absorbing the slight scent of citrus that pushed through the overwhelming spearmint; combined, her mind fluttered back years ago, when the dancer was more often than not found chewing gum, particularly when they'd decided jointly to quit smoking. "You are my safe place," she whispered. "You always have been. Right here, in your arms, is where I know nothing can hurt me." Brittany felt her heart swell, threatening to burst through her chest and wrap its own arms around her wife's thin frame, but a sudden vibration on their bedside table broke the spell they sat coated in.

_I hope you're both okay, but you need to get here NOW. Everything is fine, I swear, but come over! Hurry!_

"Must be serious," the blonde chuckled. "She never uses double exclamation points." She locked her phone, tossing it onto the sheets, squeezing Santana's waist once more before patting her thigh, encouraging her to stand. "Do you want to change before we go?"

"She's seen us look much worse. I think we're okay."

* * *

_A knock at the door roused both women, who lay on opposite ends of the bed, facing determinedly opposite one another. "Tell the elf carpenters to stop building tables in my head," Brittany groaned, clutching her skull._

_"It's the door," her counterpart grumbled. "Go answer."_

_Forgetting the flashes of pain coursing through her head, the blonde rolled over quickly, glaring at the back of her girlfriend's head. "You go get it." She folded her arms across her chest, her glower not faltering as a pout developed. "I'm not your slave Santana."_

_"Oh for fuck's sake," Quinn muttered from the doorway, taking in her friend's straggled appearances. Mascara was smeared across Brittany's cheeks and her once tightly pulled back ponytail was falling out. Santana had only managed to take off her top, and lay curled in the fetal position in her bra and nearly illegally lengthed pencil skirt. "Are you two still fighting?"_

_The couple responded with opposite answers, huffing in frustration after hearing the other speak. The brunette rolled over, returning her girlfriend's glare as they realized they still remained on different pages in different chapters of what seemed to be completely different books._

_"She doesn't appreciate the things that I do for her. I'm sick of being taken for granted," Brittany grumbled as she sat up, attempting and failing to readjust her hair._

_The brunette rolled her eyes as she pushed herself up into a seated position. "What do you want me to do Brittany, huh? Would you like me give you a round of applause every time you fold your laundry?"_

_"I'd _like you _to say thank you on occasion. I don't have to cook, or clean, or be this idealized housewife you apparently want me to be," the dancer exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration before taking in several deep breaths. Her next words were soft, dripping in defeat. "I'm so much more than that Santana, and I hate that you don't see it!"_

_"Oh sweetheart," the brunette cooed, "I see it." She shifted her weight so she could crawl across the mattress, wrapping her girlfriend in her arms. "I'm sorry I haven't been saying my thank you's lately. I really am appreciative of everything you do for me." Santana planted a firm kiss against the blonde's temple, rubbing her back gently._

_"Okay then lovebirds, now that everything is settled, I need you in separate showers." Both girls pulled apart slightly, staring at their best friend with matching quizzical looks. "Number one? You smell like the floor of whatever bar you were at last night. Number two? We have a four hour road trip ahead of us ladies, and we should have left like, ten minutes ago to pick Rachel up from the airport. April isn't going to take kindly to all of us being late for Thanksgiving."_

_Brittany twisted her mouth to the side before nodding, begrudgingly leaving the comfort of her bed for their shower, now wholly disappointed that her girlfriend couldn't join her, because the best part of the angry sex from the night before was meant to be the makeup sex the morning after. Santana, not after glaring at Quinn for quite the same reason, stood as well, grabbing her robe from the back of their bedroom door and slumping her shoulders as she made her way down the hallway to the guest bathroom._

_"And Santana? Try and remember a shirt this time." A damp washcloth smacked the blonde in the face and turning to her left, Quinn saw the brunette stick her tongue out teasingly before clicking the door shut behind her, the sound followed moments later by the familiar squeak of the shower nozzle._

* * *

"Q?" The door shut behind the couple, and both scanned the entryway, finding no sight of the blonde. Santana heard muffled whispers and arched an eyebrow, tilting her head to the left and silently requesting that her wife follow her. "Susie Q, you can't send out a 911 text and not – "

Both women dropped their gaze to the floor, and Brittany's hand immediately flew towards her mouth before she whispered the brunette's name incredulously. Her free hand wrapped around the photographer's arm, squeezing intermittently before she dropped to the floor, watching their daughter with wide eyes.

"Time to baby proof the loft," Quinn grinned from the doorway, her breathy voice bubbling over with excitement.

Dylan's smile was wide as she struggled on hands and knees to scuttle toward her mothers and after realizing the gravity of the little girl's newfound discovery, they both waved their hands inward, encouraging her to continue her trek toward them. Slowly but surely, the infant stopped in front of Brittany, giggling when she was scooped into the blonde's arms and nestled into the dancer's chest.

"She's growing up so fast," Santana murmured, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes as she beamed in her daughter's direction. Kneeling down, she gingerly ran her fingertips through the tiny curls against the child's scalp, her smile nearly splitting her face in half.

"Safe place," the blonde whispered, nudging her wife gently.

"Yeah Britt," the photographer returned in the same low tone, her blissful expression not faltering. "Safe place." She watched intently as Dylan snuggled into Brittany's chest, her lips transforming from a toothless grin into a suckling motion as her tiny fingers pressed insistently into her mother's skin. "Someone is ready for dinner," Santana chuckled as she helped ease her wife off of the ground, pressing a kiss to her cheek before the blonde made her way toward the guest room to settle down with their daughter.

"You two seem to be happy," Quinn commented, her voice casual, but dripping with undertones of curiosity.

"Despite the rumors I'm sure are flying around the theater, we're just fine." The remaining lightness in her chest was quickly seeping away, leaving in its place the weight she was much more accustomed to. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and took several long breathes, counting them out as her wife's words echoed in her head. _Safe place_. "We really are okay," she reiterated.

"I just worry," the blonde finally admitted. "If you two were to ever get divorced, where is there hope for the rest of us?"

"Don't you worry your pretty blonde head over it Lucy Q," Santana murmured into short blonde locks after pulling her best friend into her arms. "I told Britt a long time ago that she was stuck with me forever."

Quinn nodded against the brunette's shoulder squeezing just that much more tightly before pulling away. "You said you two are okay together, but what about separately? Is something going on with you?"

"I'll be fine." She flashed a wan smile toward her friend, avoiding contact with the hazel eyes probing her own with wild abandon.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know," Santana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before inhaling deeply. "Just – just trust me, okay? If you have a reason to be concerned, really and truly concerned, we'll tell you. I want to try and handle this on my own though, okay?"

Quinn tilted her head in consideration before nodding, wrapping her arms around the photographer's waist, noting how she seemed to be just the slightest bit more slender. "I love you – all three of you. You know that, right?"

"Yeah Q, I know."

* * *

**AN: I'd like to apologize because I know the last chapter was a little heavy, and I've had a nightmare hurricane of assignments/tests which kept me from updating. Please know that despite touching on heavier subjects in the next few chapters, I have every intention to include fluff to balance things, as this chapter showed.  
Feedback is appreciated, as I can't know what is working and what isn't without a little criticism from you guys, so if you have time, leave a review or send a PM. As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. xx A**


	21. Chapter 21: We Have to Get It

"I'm going in to the theater," Brittany whispered, pressing a kiss to her wife's forehead. Small touches like that were the extent of their relationship in the most recent weeks, and the dancer cherished them much more than she let on. Much like when she was pregnant, she felt the intense need to be near Santana at all times, but intimacy was a far forgotten facet of their relationship, and the craving to hold her together tightly coursed through the blonde with an unhinged fervor. The brunette's eyes barely fluttered open, but she nodded, smiling weakly. "Don't forget about costume shopping this afternoon."

"Didn't forget," Santana murmured in response, stifling a yawn before curling back into the blankets, shivering slightly. "We'll come and meet you at the theater." She slipped her fingertips into the sleeves of her sweatshirt before hiding both hands beneath her pillow, sleepily watching as her wife gathered the rest of her things for the day.

The blonde left another lingering kiss on her lips this time, pulling away moments later to say her goodbyes to their daughter, situating her mouth against every bare inch of the infant's skin she could find and running her thumb across Dylan's cheek. "Don't have too much fun with Mama while I'm gone," she teasingly chided, pulling on her boots and sliding her duffle bag onto one shoulder. "Love you both."

"Love you too," Santana croaked from where she was still huddled underneath their comforter, her voice thick with early morning rasp. She waited for the door to fall shut behind her wife, listening for the distinct click of the lock and Brittany's pounding feet on the stairs before letting out her held breath. Her body sunk further into the pillows and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, fighting the shiver running through her frame. Willing herself to roll over, she reached into the bedside table and retrieved a small orange bottle and her composition book, placing them both on the sheets before rising and crossing the room to where her daughter lay, without a care in the world.

Leaning into the bassinet, bright blue eyes peered up at her, questioningly. She plastered on a brave smile, but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her daughter could intuit the difference in her mother in the past week. She propped Dylan up against a small mountain of pillows, avoiding the insistent eye contact of the child, who seemed content with doing nothing more than staring at her. Santana tickled beneath her daughter's chin, smiling as best she could before popping the small blue pill from her palm into the back of her throat, swallowing thickly. She flicked through her notebook, finding a dog eared page and uncapping her pen, her hand dutifully running across the lines again and again. She closer she made it to the bottom of the page, the tighter her chest became, her eyes brimming with tears. Shaking her head, Santana lifted Dylan up, walking with the infant clasped tightly in her arms until they mad e it to the living room, where she settled the little girl into her play pen. Her breastbone, once aching, eased slightly as she watched the child sit up on her own. Dylan had recently become fascinated with her toes and as she reached for them, she babbled in excitement, more than pleased every time she managed to grab hold of the wiggling extremities.

A flash of guilt surged in her frame as she pulled her hoodie more tightly around her torso, slipping out onto the balcony and settling into one of the chairs there, pulling her lighter from her pocket. The familiar coolness flooded her throat and eased the tightness of her chest as she inhaled, but her body immediately revolted, and she felt her stomach clench as she coughed, gagging slightly. Mocha eyes shut once again, and she took in several deep breaths before bringing the thin cigarette to her lips again, taking a much shorter drag. Despite the bright sun on her shoulders, she shivered again as her mind fluttered away with the breeze. She'd been on her prescribed medication for just over a week, holding out for an upturn. Santana recalled the words of her counselor, explaining the elongated release of the pill, and how it might take a few weeks for it to take full effect, thus the appointment three weeks from her last. She had only taken a single introductory psychology course in college, but she felt sure that something wasn't quite right with her medication; it couldn't possibly be meant to make her feel worse before she felt better. She'd managed to feign a smile for her wife, maintaining a semblance of strength, but she felt her will power slowly fading away as the days grew longer.

Flicking her cigarette over the edge of the balcony, she ignored the harshly shouted words from below, feeling less than a twinge of remorse at the idea of having hit someone on the ground level. She locked the French doors behind her, scooping Dylan back up and preparing herself for another long day in front of the television as had been the norm. The infant scrunched her tiny nose, recoiling from her mother as the pungent scent of smoke overwhelmed her.

"Lo siento mija," Santana cooed. "Maybe you and Mama should go take a bath; how does that sound?" She sent up silent thanks that her daughter could not yet speak, because worrying glances weren't as bad as constant interrogation and clandestine judgment. She quickly moved them both toward the en suite in her and Brittany's bedroom, picking her phone off of the bedside table before shutting the bathroom door behind them, to maintain some of the heat. Unlocking her phone to play music, her eyes flit over a notification as she turned the faucets on, provoking a steady stream of water to fill the tub.

_I hope my girls are having fun. Missing you already. I love you both! Xx B_

She smiled softly, despite herself, but closed the text message and moved to her music app, tapping the playlist she'd had on repeat for the past few days and settling both of them snuggly into the bathtub. Santana dipped her hair beneath the lukewarm water, unaffected by the lackluster temperature surrounding her, remembering her daughter's incapability of withstanding extremes. She held her breath as her nose slipped beneath the water level, briefly considering the thought of remaining there, allowing the liquid to fill her lungs. Vibrations splashed against her forehead, causing her eyes to flutter open beneath the water and despite the buzzing between her ears, she could hear the piercing screams of her daughter. Santana sat up quickly, jostling the "bath buddy" Dylan was sat in, her limbs flailing and her shrill cries punctuated only by occasional gasping breaths.

The brunette pulled the infant toward her, pressing their chests together as she ran her palm up and down the little girl's back. "Lo siento mija; lo siento carina," she whispered, holding her daughter almost as tightly as she clung to the sobs threatening to wrack her body. "I didn't mean to scare you. I would never leave you and Mommy." She rocked gently back and forth against the edge of the tub, humming along to the music as Dylan's cries slowly began subsiding. "Let's finish up bath time and call Nanny Q; how does that sound?" She peered downward, her eyes catching a glimpse of reddened cheeks and blurry blue. She situated her lips against her daughter's forehead before settling her into the crook of her arms, deciding to wash her that way. Despite herself, she craved the physical sensation, and if anything, she could tell Dylan needed tangible reassurance of the most evident kind of her mother's presence. As Santana ran the washcloth against her daughter's skin, her mind flashed back to the scent of smoke hanging in the water, identical to the stench she was sure infected her clothing. She washed her own body quickly, intent on removing herself from the bathtub and hopefully from the thoughts that clung there. Wrapping a towel around her head and her robe close to her body, she tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, tapping her foot impatiently as she ran her hands against her daughter's stomach, rubbing the lavender scented lotion in with as much tenderness as she could muster.

When Santana finally heard the breathy hello on the other end of the line, her legs nearly collapsed beneath her in relief. "Q?" Her voice wavered and she could hear the crack in it despite the single letter she uttered. She was met with a rush of unending questions as Quinn worked herself into an emotional overdrive. "It's time to worry," she said simply, dropping her head to her chest in resignation as tears flooded her cheeks. "I need to get to Britt. I need you to come and get Dylan."

"I have class for another hour." The brunette's heart fell through her rib cage, settling heavily into her gut as Quinn wracked her brain for a possible solution. "Drop her with Andy, if you're comfortable with that, and as soon as I get out, I'll pack her things and take her for the night. Will that work?" Santana croaked out an affirmative response, thanking her best friend meekly. "Stay strong pretty girl, and hurry up and get to Brittany."

Tossing her phone onto the sheets, she fastened the tabs on Dylan's diaper before slipping her into a pair of tights and a long sleeved dress, kissing her cheek before getting dressed herself. Her mind was reeling, in the worst possible ways, and she couldn't manage even a semblance of a grip on her own thoughts. Santana abandoned her hair dryer, as each glimpse in the mirror met her with the sight of the still draining bath tub, so she pulled her hair back quickly, rubbing at her forehead with furious intent. Bundling both her and her daughter, she settled Dylan into her car seat, grabbing her purse and keys before making her way across the hallway and meeting her neighbor's door with three strong knocks, despite the weakness coursing through her limbs.

"I need you to keep her for an hour or so, until Quinn gets out of class." Excusing the interruption and lack of pleasantries, Andy nodded, taking in the woman's straggled appearance and shifting the infant's seat from her mother's hand to his own. Santana thrust the diaper bag in his hand and nodded once, mouthing a few words of gratitude before taking the stairs down with a speed that rivaled Brittany's in college.

* * *

"_Come on Santana! Come on, come on, come on!" The brunette grinned as she raced down the stairs after her fiancée, the word still new on their tongues, nearly tripping as she reached the bottom, caught only by strong arms and a bright smile._

_"How did you manage to pack everything without me knowing?"_

_Brittany's grin only widened before she pressed a kiss to her fiancée's cheek. "You sleep like dead people baby. It wasn't difficult."_

_"So are you going to tell me where we're going?" The blonde shook her head, her features quickly transforming into a smirk. "That's not fair," Santana grumbled, crossing her arms and doing an uncanny impersonation of the dancer's pout. "What if I don't want to go wherever we're meant to be going?"_

_"You said you'd follow me anywhere. Now follow," Brittany replied cheekily, smacking the brunette once on her backside before guiding her out of their complex's front door and toward the Jeep, opening the door and bowing dramatically as she ushered the woman in. Slamming the door shut, the blonde ran around to the other side of the car, placing an envelope into Santana's lap, nudging her once in the side to open it._

_"Illinois Beach State Park," she read out loud, looking over the brochure in her lap. "We're going to the beach?" Her mocha eyes widened, sparkling with excitement and a wide grin set into her cheeks when Brittany nodded. "Are we camping there?"_

_"If not, I bought a tent for nothing," the dancer teased. "One weekend to get away from everything and everyone before we have to plan an entire wedding," she explained. "One weekend where it's just us."_

_"That sounds more perfect than you could imagine," Santana whispered, leaning across the console to pull her fiancée in for a long kiss. "_You_ are more perfect than I could imagine."_

* * *

Despite her initial insistence on getting to her wife, Santana spent nearly two hours driving around town, in an attempt to calm her shaking limbs and racing mind. "Twinkletoes, where is Brittany?" Her voice cut through the empty auditorium, startling the only two occupants who sat closely side by side on the edge of the stage. Her eyebrow arched as she took in the second man's appearance, remembering him to be the lead, just out of college with a degree in the dramatic arts and eyebrows that rivaled caterpillars.

"The morning's rehearsals just finished. She should be in her dressing room. I can – "

"I'll be all right," she replied, her tone considerably softer. "Thank you though Kurt." She took the stairs nearest the pair, slipping through the wings to the backstage area, her feet slapping against the linoleum as she hurried down the hallway toward her wife.

"Something is wrong with her," the lighter haired man mumbled. "She never calls me by my name." He shook it off, assuming that in the event that something _was _seriously wrong, as in his mind only a traumatic brain injury would have altered her personality so fiercely, he'd be informed.

Knocking lightly on the door, Santana twisted the knob before peering in, seeing her wife marking the choreography for the next portion of the show, headphones tucked into her ears as per usual. She allowed a small surge of pride to rise in her chest, but was sorely disappointed to find it didn't remain there as she had hoped; as quickly as it had appeared, the feeling faded away, leaving her feeling more empty than she had before. The small tastes of positivity were the bane of her existence at present, as they always managed to remind her of the beauty she was missing out on. It was far easier to function when the emotions were constant, and she was not tormented with the hopes of a better day; she had the strength to sludge through the darkness each morning, but each sliver of happiness was like a single ray of sunlight that slipped through a rainstorm and was quickly covered by the clouds overhead.

She slowly inched toward the blonde, wrapping her arms around Brittany's waist when she was near enough, and twisting her in the embrace. The dancer let out a happy hum of approval as their lips met, pulling away after a moment to run her eyes over her wife's body. Her calculated stare didn't miss the way Santana's jeans sagged slightly and her hip bones sat prominent through the thin material of her t-shirt.

"Are you okay?" Santana nodded, then shook her head, and finally shrugged before her eyes were coated in moisture and her lips were pressed insistently against her wife's. "Sweetheart – "

Any words the dancer hoped to convey were swallowed as the photographer led her cautiously toward the couch in the corner of the dressing room, pressing down against the warmth of Brittany's body when they hit the cushions. "I need to feel you," Santana murmured into her lips, tears still streaming steadily down her cheeks. "I need to feel _something_."

Despite the nagging voice at the back of her head that screamed, shouted, and threw up red flags in multiple directions, the blonde nodded, grabbing the back of her wife's neck and swallowing the gasping breaths that seized her heart, keeping it in a strong hold. She flipped them easily and ran her palms underneath Santana's shirt, her fingertips meeting not much more than protruding bone and clammy flesh. "How did I not notice?" she whispered, tracing the skin stretched over the brunette's hip bone.

"I didn't want you to notice, so I didn't let you," Santana admitted in a small voice. "It's still hard to admit I need help." She blinked back the tears that had reformed, rolling her eyes upward in an attempt to quell them. "And I really do need help Britt."

"I know." The brunette's eyebrows scrunched together, furrowing in the middle, a silent _why _written across her features. "Quinn called me. She saw your writing from this morning when she was packing Dylan's things." The repetitive words splayed across the pages of Santana's composition book flashed across her mind's eye, burning into her irises.

_I can't protect them. I can't protect them. I can't protect them. I can't protect them. I can't protect them._

Brittany watched her readily, as if she could see those same words etched into the mocha orbs in front of her, but could not find an inkling of anything aside from unhinged fear reflected back at her. "Please touch me," she finally whispered, her eyes flickering back and forth between the blue of her wife's. "Make me feel something that I can know is true." The blonde slowly nodded, tilting her head before leaning forward slightly, unsure of her actions and their potential repercussions. She could taste the salt against her wife's lips as her tongue traced patterns into her lips - metaphorical hearts and solid words of reassurance. Brittany could feel the brunette quake beneath her, and couldn't be sure if those vibrations were fear, panic, or pleasure, but in that moment, so long as they locked eyes and a nod was exchanged without hesitation, the reasoning didn't matter. Santana needed warmth and promises; she needed intimacy and strength; she needed her wife and all of the things that came with her each time their mouths collided and their limbs intertwined. Pulling away with a shuddering sigh, Brittany collapsed onto the cushions, slipping her arm underneath the brunette and rolling her into the dancer's side.

"You need to go back to Dr. Goodwin tomorrow."

"I know," Santana whispered.

The blonde took a deep breath before continuing, blinking back residual tears. "I can't lose you. I need you – we both do."

"I know," she repeated, her voice thick. "I need you both too."

* * *

Three strong knocks were met with a squealed, "Andy, can you catch her?" and despite the emotional rollercoaster the couple on the other side of the wooden door had corkscrewed through in the past hours, they both laughed as the door was flung open, revealing a frazzled, albeit confused blonde. "I should have known when you combined your genes that you'd create a hellion that is impossible to get frustrated with," she groaned, leaning her forehead against the frame. "She won't sit still for anything."

Andy met the three women in the threshold, cupping Dylan's bottom to hold her against his hip, bouncing her slightly. "You've been giving Nanny Q H-E-double hockey sticks today, haven't you?" he cooed, chuckling when the infant wiggled in his embrace, babbling in response.

"That's my girl," Santana snickered, playfully tapping Quinn's cheek before making her way into the apartment. Brittany pressed a kiss to the other blonde's cheek, locking blue with hazel to silently convey her gratitude before snatching her daughter from Andy's arms and blowing a raspberry into her neck. The photographer turned from her place at the counter, wrapping an arm around her wife when she approached and leaning into her side as Quinn carefully examined the body language, as had come to be her automatic reaction.

Brittany's arm was bent at the elbow, where it dangled over the brunette's shoulders, with her palm resting just above Santana's heart. The smaller woman was curled into her wife's warmth, her own arm settled around the dancer's waist, with a single fingertip trailing across their daughter's foot in a slow and steady path. Despite the past few weeks, it seemed they'd reached an unspoken agreement, and the protective stance Brittany sported was only further evidence of that. Quinn smiled softly to herself, content to see the pair as they should be and as she'd always seen them.

"Well, we're supposed to go costume shopping with Little Bit," Santana finally spoke up, hoping to break the staring contest their best friend seemed to be having with their appendages, "do you two want to join us?"

"I think that's something you guys should do on your own," Andy mused. "Besides, I got Rory's costume weeks ago. She was dead set on being a mermaid, and there was really no room for discussion." All three women chuckled, nodding as they made their way back to the door, with the brunette holding back her teasing remarks, as it was common, definitive knowledge that Andy was hopelessly whipped by his daughter.

"Q? Lunch this week, to properly thank you for handling the crazy train I've been?"

The blonde laughed lightly before nodding and pulling her best friend into her chest in a tight embrace. "Yeah S. That sounds perfect."

* * *

"We _have _to get it."

"Oh, do we? Do we _have _to get it Dyl?" Brittany teasingly bounced the infant on her hip as her wife cooed over the costume clutched in her fingers.

"Babe," Santana whined, fidgeting on the tips of her toes, "it's so cute though."

"I never said it wasn't cute sweetheart." Her chuckles were heard throughout the store, provoking a few side eye glances from the other customers. "I don't see why you are so dead set on this one."

"Because it's absolutely adorable, and it matches her zodiac sign."

Arching an eyebrow, Brittany's chuckles turned into a full blown giggle fit. "Since when do you care about horoscopes Santana?"

"Since it became a legitimate point toward my argument," she rebutted quickly before turning toward her daughter and holding the costume up. "¿Qué piensas mija?" she hummed. "Do you want to be a lion for Halloween? The cutest lion in the whole jungle?" Dylan yawned sleepily, nuzzling further into Brittany's neck.

"I don't think she likes it."

"She's practicing her silent roars," the brunette reasoned, nodding once for emphasis despite her wife's uncontrollable laughter. Leaning in, the blonde pressed a kiss to the corner of Santana's mouth, causing her frown to twist slightly and a twinkle of victory to infiltrate her irises. "Does that mean we can get it?" Brittany reflected her wife's earlier nod, grinning as the photographer pumped her fists in excitement.

"You are really lucky you're cute," the dancer mumbled, following her wife toward the counter as Santana bounced in the direction of the cashier.

* * *

**AN: I wanted to get this up before heading back to class, so I apologize for any typos, as it hasn't been read over. I plan on doing so and reuploading the chapter in the event of mistakes. I'd like to thank all of you who have followed, favorited, or reviewed, because I certainly never expected to have this many reviews so quickly, and your kind words mean the absolute world to me.**

**This is one of the longest chapters yet, excluding fifteen I believe, as I wanted to get a lot into this chapter before finishing it off, thus the time it took to upload it. Couple perfectionism with having a birthday over the weekend, and you have the reasoning behind the time between this chapter and the last.**

**For the most part, the Santana angst has edged its way toward completion, as things are definitely about to take an upturn for our little family, though that story arc is not yet over. There are still kinks that need to be worked out. So, with that said, the next chapter will involve Halloween and an appointment with Dr. Goodwin, as well as a few other snippets.**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and review if you will. :)**


	22. Chapter 22: Mini Vans

The leather of the chair felt akin to an iceberg against her denim clad jeans as Dylan squirmed in her hold. She held the little girl's hands tightly in her own, grinning as the infant made attempts to stand on two unsteady legs, more often than not falling backward, onto her mother's thighs. Santana popped her lips again and again, watching as her daughter attempted the same, opening and closing her mouth like a fish and giggling every time the older brunette's lips smacked against one another.

"Good morning Santana, and – "

"Dylan," the photographer cooed, situating the infant better in her arms as she addressed her psychologist.

"Very nice to meet you little one," Dr. Goodwin replied jokingly. "So, my receptionist said you requested an emergency session. Can you enlighten me as to the necessity of it?" From a bystander's perspective, the brunette looked the picture of happiness at a first glance. The counselor's eyes ran up the length of her patient's frame, casually noting the differences in weight, posture, and expression.

Never one to beat around the bushes, Santana nodded, clearing her throat. "I know I'm by no means a professional, but I would like to talk about possibly changing my medication or altering the dosage."

"You know your body better than I do," the doctor acquiesced. "We started you on Zoloft a little less than two weeks ago, correct?" The brunette nodded again, her eyes flickering with flames of tension. "We did discuss how it might take a bit longer to work into your system, am I right? What is causing your hesitancy in regards to continuing the treatment?"

A shiver ran down Santana's spine until a tiny hand pressed into her abdomen, halting the progress of the vigorous momentum of the tremors. Peering down slightly, she caught a glimpse of cerulean beneath furrowed brows, the waves of apprehension filtering through the brunette's frame infusing themselves into her daughter. Leaning slightly, she pulled her composition book from her bag, handing it to her counselor before settling back into her seat. After a few solidified hums of acknowledgement, her counselor examined her over the bridge of her glasses. "When did the suicidal ideations begin?"

"Not long after the treatment did," Santana confessed, pressing Dylan more closely to her chest. "The first time I ever considered acting on them was a few days ago, when we were in the bath tub together." She stroked the back of her fingers against the curling tufts of hair covering her daughter's tiny skull, sighing in resignation. "She's the only reason I'm still here. If she had gone to work with Britt –"

Dr. Goodwin nodded, allowing her patient's sentence to trail off into the warmed air, trickling over the arms of the leather seats they both sat in and whispering against the carpet as they fell away. The counselor reached for the blue tablet nearest her chair, scribbling quickly before ripping the page off and tucking it beneath one leg. She flipped open the still thin file folder that boasted the photographer's last name and wrote tantalizingly slowly, making notations toward previous observances and appending additional facts. "I'm switching your medication, effective immediately. The Zoloft shouldn't have affected you so harshly so quickly, so we'll try a different class of anti-depressants. This," she extended the new prescription, "will increase your levels of norepinephrine, in addition to the serotonin already present in your body chemistry, instead of focusing solely on the serotonin." The brunette stared at her blankly, and Dr. Goodwin chuckled lightly in response. "Do you drink Santana?"

"It's not a problem, if that's what you're asking," she replied, her tone guarded and unsure.

"No," the counselor rebutted quickly, holding in her laughter. "Let's say you have a favorite kind of liquor, and that's all you've ever drank, okay?" The photographer nodded, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "After a while, your body becomes tolerant to say, the vodka, and it has less of an effect on you, but if perhaps someone gives you drinks with both vodka and rum, they're more likely to intoxicate you more quickly, am I right?" The fuzziness clouding Santana began falling away and she nodded again, more reassuringly. "That's the difference here, but in a more positive way. We were giving you vodka, but you need rum too."

"You have a strange way of explaining medication, you know that?" Santana grinned.

"You understood though, didn't you? Go ahead and get this filled, and start taking it tomorrow morning. We'll keep our appointment for next week, and see where things are going from there, all right?" The brunette nodded a third time, already slipping Dylan back into her coat and scarf before struggling to balance the child as she did the same to herself.

Santana stood moments later, gathering her child more easily in her arms before tossing a tired smile toward her counselor. "Thank you for taking me seriously," she whispered. "You aren't just helping me, but you're potentially saving my family. I promised myself, after my parents died, that I would never leave my daughter, and I almost did just that." The brunette swallowed the building lump in her throat, her eyes fluttering skyward in an attempt to quell the burning sensation behind her eyelids that signaled a raging storm of emotion. "She deserves to know her mother, and the woman that her mother has the capability of being, and you're helping me give that to her. So thank you." She shifted Dylan upward in her grasp, bouncing her lightly to settle her comfortably before reaching for her bag and exiting the doctor's office, feeling a lightness in her step that was a familiarity of the past and a promise for the future.

* * *

"Here," Santana said, thrusting a plastic bag toward the blonde who'd just entered her apartment. "If I have whiskers, you are not getting out of this unscathed." Quinn chuckled as she dug into the bag, retrieving a butterfly mask composed entirely of glow sticks. Brittany crossed the threshold of the entryway, her own set of eyeliner whiskers splitting the dusting of freckles covering her cheeks, juggling a squirming lion cub, two eared headbands, and a small orange pumpkin for Dylan's candy.

Quinn immediately scooped the infant into her arms, cooing over her costume before turning back to her friends with a wide grin. "Thank you both for giving me the cutest godchild on the planet," she squealed, planting a firm kiss against the little girl's forehead.

"I told you I wasn't biased," Santana teased, nudging her wife in the ribs before reaching for their coats and scarves. "Are we all ready to go?" Brittany settled her ears into her hair as Quinn slipped her glow stick mask onto her face and the pair nodded jointly, beaming identical smiles in the brunette's direction. Ushering the blondes out of the door and across the hall to Andy's apartment, Santana felt a hand on her elbow and fell back, twisting to meet hazel eyes as Brittany compared costumes with Rory.

"All those years ago, did you imagine this? Mid-twenties and dressed up to take two little girls trick or treating?"

Santana's eyes flickered over to her wife who was chuckling as Dylan stretched upward in an attempt to knock the tiger striped ears off of the blonde's head. Two pairs of sapphires met her gaze, both sparkling despite the dim light of the hallway. Her heart fluttered, bruising her rib cage with its spontaneous surge of frantic tap dancing beneath her breastbone. Brittany mouthed an _I love you_and her pulse picked up from soft-shoe shuffles to hard-hitting triple time steps. Santana allowed her eyes to flutter shut, her mental camera releasing its shutter, capturing the golden warmth filling her veins. She wholeheartedly consented to the seizing her chest, the static building between her ears, and the flood of momentary nirvana that seeped across every inch of her frame, washing away the niggling remains of darkness that had wrapped weighted arms around her bones.

"Honestly Q? I imagined it a lot like this."

The pair watched as Andy knelt beside his daughter, instructing her to be gentle as she lovingly petted the fur surrounding Dylan's chubby cheeks, giggling as the infant babbled to her, stringing together nonsensical syllables and grinning widely. Brittany held the infant's hands as she stood on wobbly legs, squirming and twisting in her mother's grip, as if frustrated with the idea that she was not yet independent in her motions.

"Babe, you ready?" Santana arched an eyebrow in her best friend's direction, having listened to the words coming from her mouth fall solidly out of the blonde's as well. Quinn flushed considerably, ducking her head before lifting her lashes to meet Andy's crooked grin and outstretched hand. She hesitantly intertwined their fingers, feeling mocha eyes boring into her spine, and she felt the man squeeze against her palm once, twice, and a third time before her muscles relaxed and she lifted Rory onto her hip. The little girl curled into the blonde's neck, not so quietly whispering about how she and Dylan were set to be best friends when Dylan "was a lil' bit bigger, 'cause she can't walk yet."

"Are you going to help her learn?" Quinn inquired, bouncing the toddler lovingly on her hip.

Rory nodded furiously. "I'll wearn her all kinds'a stuff, wike how to catch the butterfwies in the hallway." All four adults chuckled quietly and Santana felt her wife's hand slip into her own fingers, tilting their heads together as the petite blonde pressed a quick kiss to the little girl's cheek before announcing that they should head out. They all managed to troop downstairs without problems, surprised to find that despite the still early evening hour, the streets were flooded with costumes. The brunette mentally patted herself on the back when she took in the apartments and townhouses around her, the stoops filled with people passing out candy and lacking the distinct, rather pungent scent of alcohol she was sure the downtown area boasted. Making sure to take an adequate amount of pictures to be sent to Dylan's at times overzealously doting grandmothers, the group of six began prowling the streets, smiling kindly at the compliments both little girls received.

The night, for the most part, went off without a hitch. One man leaning against a brownstone building attempted to grope Brittany, and Andy spent the better part of ten minutes holding Santana back as the two blondes spent those same minutes calming her down. Rory held an affronted look for an identical length of time as a little boy insisted that she were Ariel, and despite her best attempts, wouldn't believe that she were simply a mermaid without a name. Dylan eventually got fussy and was immediately deposited into her stroller, a spare bottle in her tiny hands as they continued walking the streets, whereupon Rory decided she was also going to teach the infant "how ta' use her words when she's gwumpy."

Santana leaned into her wife's side as they strolled leisurely, grinning each time the toddler ran toward the next stoop, proudly declaring a lisping _twick or tweat_and twisting on her spot as adult after adult complimented her fire engine red hair.

"I can't wait for Dylan to be old enough to really enjoy Halloween," Brittany confessed, shooting a confused look when the brunette pulled away from her arms.

"Don't wish away my baby girl," she exclaimed, her eyes wide with panic. "She's already getting so big, and soon she's going to be walking and talking and graduating high school and – " Brittany impeded the furious train wreck of progress that was Santana's reeling mind with a firm kiss, gripping the back of her neck insistently.

"We can always have another," the blonde whispered conspiratorially.

"Absolutely not," Quinn barked from a little further up the sidewalk. "Give me a little time to recover from this dose of baby fever before you smack me in the face with another round."

"Not ready for a minivan just yet Lucy Q?" Santana cheekily winked at her best friend, who returned the gesture with nothing more than a glower before Andy tugged her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Brittany attempted to mimic the expression, but failed miserably, mirroring the man in front of her and tugging her wife more closely to her side. The brunette leaned into the familiar warmth, slipping one hand into the back pocket of the blonde's dark jeans, as the minute distance between them diminished even further. "Do you want another?" she whispered, trying to keep her tone low. She knew it was a conversation for another time, another day, and most certainly another place, but her curiosity had flared, and she knew no other way to quell it. "We talked about two kids, when you got your tattoo," she continued, her hand moving from its place in her wife's pocket and snaking around to trace the white inked letters on her left hip bone, "but it hasn't been brought up since."

"I wouldn't be opposed to a Kendall, or Keegan," Brittany mused as the brunette absentmindedly traced the letters K-E continually, "and I don't think I want Dylan to be an only child."

"Yeah," Santana breathed out, nestling her head further into her wife's side, "me neither."

"But I don't think we're ready for another any time soon."

"Nope, no way," the photographer agreed, chuckling slightly. "I want them to be close in age, but not too close," she finally decided. "Maybe when she's about a year and a half?"

"I thought you didn't want to wish away your baby," Brittany teased, bumping her hip against her wife's.

Shuffling forward slightly to catch a glimpse of her daughter sleeping soundly in her stroller despite the action around her, Santana smiled softly. "She'll always be my baby Britt-Britt."

"How very Zen of you," the blonde murmured against her wife's temple, lips brushing the skin pulled taut against delicate features and sending bolts of warmth to course through the photographer's frame.

"I'm trying," she grinned, her eyes fluttering shut subconsciously as she allowed herself to be led through the streets. Santana hummed under her breath, allowing her mind to wander, creeping from memory to memory as they casually meandered down the emptying sidewalks. She sent silent thanks skyward, remembering how violently her word had been shifted on its axis upon catching but a single glimpse of the blonde seven years prior. She thought back to her fear and hesitation, and Brittany's unending patience. She permitted images of their first day in Holly's antique shop to flutter across her eyelids, as well as their comfortable moments near the river. Santana mutely regaled their first night in their apartment, their graduation and wedding, the moment her wife proposed their senior year of college, and the morning Brittany rushed into the kitchen, clutching a positive pregnancy test in her shaking right hand. She remembered the blonde's warmth as they walked through the park in the midst of a snow storm and the quiet confidence she'd possessed when reciting her vows. She reminisced about the swarm of blue that held her steady the first time they'd slept together and the overwhelming scent of citrus she'd woken up to almost every morning for years. Santana recalled their trip to Ikea the summer before their senior year and the liquidity of Brittany's eyes when ten months later, she had slipped a necklace around the blonde's neck, boasting a ring with a promise of an eventual forever. A small smile tugged at her lips as she allowed the memories to cocoon her in a blanket of beautiful moments she had yet to take for granted, mentally adding the present to the infinite list she'd been building. "I love you," the brunette whispered out, tilting her head up and capturing her wife's lips.

"I love you too," Brittany replied easily, her words purporting nothing less than absolute truth, immeasurable dedication, and intangible adoration as they found themselves coming to a stop in front of their apartment building, Andy and Quinn waiting patiently with a sleeping Rory tucked into her father's arms. Santana's mind slipped away again, remembering the newness of their relationship, and how every brush of the blonde's fingertips against her skin sent a shockwave down her not yet strengthened spine. She saw the same look of hesitant affection in Quinn's eyes as she'd sported in the beginning, matched by Andy's expression of confident tenderness akin to Brittany's in those first few months.

Santana lifted Dylan from her stroller, cradling her gently in her arms as the infant's sleepiness bobbled her head dangerously, while her wife carefully collapsed the device, nodding once to their friends to head upstairs. They parted in the hallway, each moving toward the doors opposite one another, and the brunette received a pair of carefully rolled eyes when she winked at Quinn who was following Andy into his apartment. Once inside their own home, they carefully stripped Dylan of her costume, slipping her into a much less furry onesie and settling the little girl into her bassinet as they removed their own costumes and set about erasing the slightly smudged whiskers from their cheeks.

Side by side in front of the mirror, the couple shared shy smiles, occasionally bumping against one another as they readied themselves for bed. Finally sliding under the comforter, their legs immediately tangling to counteract the coolness of the sheets, Santana tugged the ponytail out of her wife's hand and lazily ran her fingers through the mussed blonde locks. "Our anniversary is coming up," she mumbled into Brittany's neck, pressing a kiss to the underside of the woman's jaw. The dancer hummed in response, her eyelids drooping slightly as the brunette's fingertips began casually scratching at her head. "Do you want to do anything special?"

"I just wanna be with you," she murmured, tugging her wife more closely as her breaths began to even out.

Santana felt her own body settling more readily into the sheets and she wondered when they'd become responsible adults who went to sleep at reasonable hours and were physically exhausted after trick or treating. She nodded slightly though, her mouth tugging up in one corner. "I was really hoping you'd say that."

* * *

**AN: A bit of fluff after you all patiently sludged through the angst with me, though I'm extremely thankful for you all saying that it didn't feel forced or out of left field, as that was a major concern of mine.  
As always, if you have requests for events, let me know. We've hit the end of October at this point, so their anniversary (November 11th), Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's will be featured in the upcoming chapters, but I always enjoy smaller story arcs as well. I'll delve back into some of the theater work a bit, to keep with the continuity there, as admittedly it has taken a back burner.  
Puck, Holly, and April will all be returning shortly, so if you've missed their presence, don't worry! :)**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to leave a review with criticism or requests, or PM as some of you have before. xx A**


	23. Chapter 23: Man Danglers

"Okay, this turn sequence shouldn't be too difficult. I'll expect you to have it by the end of break, and we'll step back in after they've run the first scene of the second act." Tugging the elastic bands of her sweatpants to mid-calf, the blonde quickly maneuvered her long hair into a haphazard bun, tucked at the nape of her neck. One arm straight out, the other curved in front of her, she extended her right leg to a painful looking point before speaking as she moved across the stage. "Pique, pique, double time, and fouette out," she demanded as she spun, matching each movement with an equally timed name. "You'll repeat it for four eight counts, as Blaine works through the bridge of this number, and I expect it to be on point. Run it once everyone," she continued, clapping her hands as she counted out the end of the previous count. "And five, six, uh seven, eight –" The fifteen or so dancers littering the stage begun moving in near-perfect unison and Brittany nodded in approval as they forged their way through the steps with few mishaps. "Not bad at all guys," she called out. "Let them run through his scene, and I'll expect you back on stage within the hour. Go get a coffee or something." The blonde reached for her hoodie, slipping her arms through it and tugging a scarf around her neck before hopping off the edge of the stage and being met with two brilliantly smiling brunettes.

"Such a turn on to watch you take charge like that," Santana teased, pressing their lips together quickly before extending a cup of hot chocolate to her wife.

"I knew I married you for a reason," Brittany smirked, gratefully sipping at the drink in her hands, allowing the warmth to extend to her fingertips. "I don't see why Rachel refuses to run the heaters when it's like, thirty degrees outside. I'm not sure how she expects my dancers to perform if they've turned into popsicles."

"More incentive for them to keep practicing," the brunette quipped from a few feet away. "If they don't stop moving, they won't get cold," she determined, receiving twin pairs of rolled eyes.

"You know, for being Jewish, you're one hell of a Broadway Nazi Berry," Santana provided, readjusting Dylan's scarf and tucking the child further into her pea coat.

"As wonderfully racist as that is, I'm choosing to take it as a compliment and further testament to my dedication."

"And I'm choosing to buy you the most recently published Webster dictionary for Christmas, so you can torment us with even more vocabulary that no one wants to hear," she winked, settling onto the edge of an auditorium chair's arm. "Opening night is how far away exactly?"

Tugging up the sleeve of her coat, she carefully scrutinized her watch, wiggling around a bit as she calculated the days. "Eight weeks, two days, five hours, and twelve minutes." Santana arched a carefully manicured eyebrow, refusing to do her own mathematics to determine the date. "January second, at seven in the evening."

"So I can safely steal my wife away for the weekend without chancing a guillotine being settled over my head?" Rachel tugged her lower lip into her mouth, biting down fiercely as she vehemently ignored the puppy eyes her friend was gifting her. "Come on Berry, you haven't even initiated weekend rehearsals yet, and, in the realm of logical thought, where lives do not revolve around show tunes, I shouldn't be expected to _ask_to borrow my wife for our anniversary."

"You might want to consider anger management classes in addition to your therapy Santana."

"You might want to consider not being such a bitter old hag, Hobbit," she immediately retorted, keen to continue before feeling a sharp pinch above her elbow as the other brunette turned on her heel to exit the auditorium. The photographer twisted in her place, meeting furrowed brows and an unyielding glare. _Apologize _the blonde mouthed out, tapping her foot impatiently as Santana swallowed back the dredges of her pride and let out of a huff of frustration. "Rachel?" she inquired lightly, hearing the distinct squeak of the woman's patent leather flats as she pivoted around. She hesitantly lifted her gaze from her own shoes, shifting Dylan into Brittany's arms before walking to approach the producer. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I've just been really stressed about making sure this weekend is perfect for Britt, and I got a little short sighted as far as other people's feelings are concerned."

"If I weren't insulted on a quazi-regular basis, I'd think you were losing your edge," Rachel teased, flicking a strand of hair over her friend's shoulder. "I'd hate to think that motherhood was making you soft." Santana rolled her eyes and chuckled before pulling the other brunette tightly against her chest.

"This production is going to be incredible Rach."

The woman nodded against her shoulder, murmuring her thanks before pulling back, clapping her hands loudly twice, and calling directions toward the stage. "Act two, scene one - from the top!" Pressing a chilled palm to her friend's cheek, she whispered a few last words before bounding up the stairs toward her actors. "If you need help with anything for this weekend, let me know."

* * *

The salad received the brunt of Santana's pent up tension as a hazel eyed blonde eyed her readily from across the table, watching at her best friend continually stabbed at the spinach filled bowl. Mocha eyes just as adamantly refused the eye contact, choosing instead to watch the beads of moisture dripping down the side of her glass as Dylan gurgled happily next to them in a high chair.

"S? Do you want to explain the past few weeks, or are we going to have to play twenty questions?"

Finally breaking her staring contest with the trickling rivets of water, she sighed, setting her fork down on the edge of her plate and folding her napkin to place it on the corner of the table further from her daughter, who'd recently taken to grabbing at anything and everything in her vicinity – including hair. "I started going to a psychologist, about a month ago I guess, because of my anxiety."

"Her fever?"

Santana furrowed her brows, unnerved at her best friend's perceptive nature, though she shouldn't have been surprised in the slightest. Only one person knew her better than Quinn did, and they both read her like a picture book. She nodded, swallowing back the lump she'd become familiar with when feelings became the solitary topic at hand. "That was the tipping point." The brunette reached forward, taking hold of her glass in shaky hands and sipping casually, to try and force the emotions back down. "Britt asked me to talk to someone, and they put me on medication that really fu –" Santana blanched, looking at her daughter, while Quinn shook her head amusedly. "Fudged me up," she amended. "I was pretty bad off."

"Define 'pretty bad off,' S. That's a pretty ambiguous ratio to go on."

"Like, considered suicide bad off," she murmured into her spinach, her voice lilting at the end as if it were a question.

For someone who'd picked up long winded paragraphs from her ex-girlfriend, Quinn had been stunned into silence, and the brunette across the table from her waited several long moments to lift her eyes from her plate, whereupon her gaze landed on a sniffling law student, wiping at her eyes with the knit scarf looped around her neck. Santana had hoped the blonde would remain stoic, strong in reigning in her emotions, but apparently even the levelheaded woman that Quinn was couldn't fight the swirling possibilities ravaging her sanity.

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you S," she finally whispered, reaching over toward Dylan and allowing the little girl to grasp each of her fingers alternately. "Are you – " she swallowed thickly, "Are you okay now?"

"I'm better," Santana managed, a wan smile gracing her features. "My doctor switched my medication, and I'm feeling much better, but it's not an indefinite fix." Quinn nodded slightly, still working to regulate her breathing and withhold any further tears. "So you and Andy?" she continued, a slight purr coloring her words.

"Oh god," the blonde chuckled, shifting until one elbow was on the table and she shielding her face with her palm. "That's your idea of a subtle conversation shift?"

"No," the photographer teased. "That's my idea of an _I-wants-juicy-details-and-I-wants-them-now_conversation shift." She speared a few leaves of spinach onto her fork, swallowing them much more easily than she had five minutes prior as she settled a predatory gaze onto her best friend.

"He's sweet," she finally acquiesced.

"Sweet in a _bring-you-flowers-and-cook-you-dinner _way, or a _fuck-you-until-you-can't-walk-straight _way?"

"God, must you be so vulgar? Not even ten minutes ago you were censoring yourself from profanity to baked goods."

"In this situation, yes, I must. I'm sure Dylan would agree were she aware of the subject matter. Must you deflect from the topic so often?" Santana bit back, her smirk more than evident as her daughter's head bobbled unsteadily between the women as they volleyed back and forth. "Spill Lucy Q."

"He's everything I never knew I wanted," the blonde admitted, a light flush covering her cheeks, "and I'd be lying if I said I didn't love Rory like she was my own."

"Then I'm happy for you."

Quinn arched an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by her friend's nonchalance when she'd been fully expecting snide comments, good-intentioned-but-unnecessary advice, or a demanding barrage of questions. "That's it? You're happy for me?" The brunette nodded once, smiling slightly. "No offense S, but are you sure they haven't altered your brain chemistry with those medications. I was waiting for at least one safe sex related, if overtly sarcastic remark, or perhaps a witty haiku about the importance of condoms."

"If you're happy, I'm happy for you. Simple as that," she reiterated, her smile not faltering. "I am capable of compassion Luce, and I can't say I'm entirely disappointed that you've moved on from the cold vegan lasagna and Streisand stage you were so vehemently clinging to for all those months."

"And there's the Santana Lopez-Pierce we all know and hate to love on occasion," Quinn cooed teasingly before turning back to the infant still tenaciously investigating her godmother's fingers. "For the sake of us all Dylan, please take after your other mother."

* * *

"Sweetheart, what are you doing?" Santana tilted her head over her shoulder, flashing an _isn't-it-obvious _smirk before returning to the clothes she was folding with painstaking care. "When I said you should start packing early for Thanksgiving, I was thinking a few days early – not a few weeks."

"This isn't for Thanksgiving Britt," she stated simply, tucking another pair of jeans into the open suitcase on their bed. "We're taking a little trip."

The brunette could practically see the light bulb flash above her wife's head when a look of comprehension fluttered across Brittany's features. The dancer sidled across the room, slipping her arms around Santana's waist and squeezing gently before pulling back, a bolt of panic running through her. "You haven't packed any of Dylan's things yet. I'll go – "

The photographer caught hold of her hand before she'd managed to make it very far, pulling Brittany back into her body. "The babysitting brigade should be here any minute. This weekend is about _us_– just you and me. I think I owe you that much."

"You don't owe me anything, you know that."

"Then consider it a grand gestured thank you for being the most incredible woman on the planet." The doorbell rang from the entry, and Santana lifted slightly onto her toes, pressing their mouths together before moving to answer the door, whereupon their loft apartment was filled with rambunctious laughter and slightly elevated voices.

"Noah James Puckerman, if you give my daughter a mohawk, I will not hesitate to make a mobile for her crib out of your testicles, understood? Just try and - "

"I wouldn't test her emotional prowess as far as her protective instincts go. It's been scientifically proven that statistically, mothers whose cubs are in danger – "

"I just barely graduated high school Berry. Cut the big words and paragraph bullsh-"

"And no cursing around my infant Noah. I will personally – "

"_Enough!_" Three brunettes turned toward exclamation, which had managed to circumvent their personal tangents and rang through the rafters of the living room. "Santana, finish packing. Puck, give my daughter a mohawk and _I _will do one better and add your man danglers to the Christmas wreath that will be on our front door. Rachel, you have been officially limited to five show tunes for the weekend. With that said, don't sing that opera lullaby to her, because it essentially enough turns her into a screaming banshee." She stared at the three frozen adults, and gestured for her wife to move back into their bedroom to continue filling their suitcase. "Puckerman, Berry – Dylan needs to be fed and changed. Feel free to divvy up those responsibilities on your own. If you're going to be taking care of my child for the weekend, I want to know that you're capable." The blonde flapped her arms a bit, encouraging motion, before all three scuttled toward different areas of the apartment, whereupon she sighed, pushing her bangs out of her hair, and meandered back into her bedroom.

She felt her back automatically hit a wall and should have been unsurprised when warm hands slipped underneath her shirt and an even warmer mouth pressed against her lips. "Authoritative Britt is so, _so _hot," the brunette husked when she pulled away.

"Authoritative Britt told you to get your sweet ass packing so that we can get to wherever the hell we're going."

* * *

"Te amo mija," Santana cooed, leaving a lingering kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Be good for Rachel and Uncle Noah." Dylan scrunched her features into a terrifying convincing imitation of her mother's scowl, and the brunette chuckled, running a thumb across the infant's cheek. "Then don't be good," she teased. "Give them hell."

"We'll miss you sweetheart," Brittany whispered, pressing her own kiss against Dylan's curls. "Mama and I will be back real soon."

Puck bounced the little girl gently against his hip, grinning cheekily at her sister and sister-in-law. "Your moms just need a weekend away, to try and make you a little brother." He received three perfectly unified smacks to the arm, chest, and head, and recoiled, grumbling under his breath.

"Go," Rachel smiled. "I'll make sure Noah doesn't corrupt her while you're gone, and I'll send updates throughout the weekend." Santana nodded, breathing out her thanks before gripping her wife's hand insistently and steeling herself to walk out of their door. Leaving Dylan for any length of time had not become any easier, and she wasn't sure that it ever would. Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she tugged on Brittany's hand, shooting a last, lingering look back towards their daughter before allowing the door to shut behind them.

"Race you," she exclaimed, her feet suddenly pounding down the staircase as she heard her wife's squeal behind her, with identical footsteps joining the rhythm of her own. The blonde caught her at the landing of the first floor, tightly caging Santana in her arms, inquiring as to where they were going. "You'll see," she murmured, tilting up to connect their lips before grabbing her wife's hand again and pulling her into the chilled air and boisterous wind.

After depositing their bags into the backseat, the brunette connected her phone to the auxiliary jack, allowing the smooth sound of Norah Jones to compliment the warmth beating down on them from the car's heaters. Carefully pulling into the oncoming traffic, the photographer easily maneuvered their car north, toward the interstate before sliding an envelope out of the inside pocket of her pea coat and unceremoniously dropping it on her wife's thighs.

Quirking an eyebrow, Brittany's nimble fingers made easy work of the sealed package, revealing a photo of the pair standing outside of a navy blue tent, clad in nothing more than their swimsuits. Santana's skin glistened in the sunlight, many shades darker than the freckled blonde's whose arm was slung possessively around her girlfriend's waist. They looked the picture of happiness, all bright grins, sparkling eyes, and sun kissed glows. "Illinois Beach?" The brunette nodded, smiling slightly. "But it's freezing out."

"I rented a cabin for the weekend," Santana admitted. "I know it's not the same – "

"It's perfect," her wife determined, effectively cutting her off. "Cuddling up by the fireplace, roasting marshmallows – "

"Having ridiculously hot sex in the Jacuzzi on the back porch."

"That too," Brittany grinned, leaning over to squeeze the brunette's thigh teasingly. "Thank you."

"Nunca tienes que dar graciasme para nada mi amor," Santana murmured in response. "I'm the lucky one."

* * *

**AN: Shorter chapter, I apologize. I'm suffering from a bit of writer's block, and this election is majorly stressing me out. So, with that said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, feedback is always appreciated, and if you're of age and in the US, GO VOTE! :) **


	24. Chapter 24: I Am Not Adorable

**AN: A little fluff, a little laughter, and a big apology for the lack of updates. :) **

* * *

"Why did I think this was a good idea?" The bitter November wind sliced through her sweater, weaving in and out of the holes of the cable knit as it fluttered past the two women. A hard shiver crackled from the base of her spine, and she fought against the impending chattering of her teeth.

"You think everything is a good idea until you realize it's a bad idea," the other woman shrugged, a teasing grin playfully coloring her features. She wrapped her wife into her arms easily, transferring the warmth of her own body into the brunette's. Santana tucked her chin closer to the dancer's chest, relishing in the heat, as Brittany managed to maintain a near furnace level body temperature that fought against even the most severe wind chills.

"But you were a good idea," she mumbled, tugging at the bottom of the blonde's sweater as a child might. "You were a very good idea."

"You're not so bad yourself," Brittany smirked, pulling away and immediately unbuttoning her jeans, sliding them off of her legs. Her wife could see the goose bumps pimpling against creamy thighs, but the sudden change in temperature didn't faze the dancer in the slightest. She tugged her hoodie and shirt over her head before unclasping her bra and climbing unceremoniously into the hot tub to her left.

"That's not fair Britt," Santana grumbled, fighting the urge to stomp her feet. The dancer was tucked into the bubbling water, the level playing just beneath her chin as she grinned wildly.

"Then get in because it feels _incredible_," she shot back, the last word akin to a moan as it traveled from the back of her throat. She swirled her limbs beneath the water, carefully watching her wife for signs of her will breaking. Brittany could see the cogs turning beneath the messy bun perched atop the brunette's head, and lifted a single digit out of the water to beckon her in. Santana rolled her eyes playfully before crossing her arms at her abdomen and pulling off her many layers in one fell swoop. She just as quickly shimmied out of her jeans, eager to absorb the heat of the water and connect with the warmth of her wife.

Sinking into the hot tub, the brunette slipped her legs around Brittany's waist, her buoyancy keeping her afloat with little effort from either woman. A small layer of steam lifted from where the water level touched the frigid November air, releasing twisting ringlets that danced against their faces, as the humidity curled the tips of their hair.

"_You _feel incredible," Santana whispered, ghosting the palms of her hands against the dip in her wife's waist, locking her ankles at the small of the blonde's back.

"Are you trying to seduce me Mrs. Lopez-Pierce?"

"That depends entirely on if it's working." The brunette grinned cheekily before planting a firm kiss beneath Brittany's ear, nipping once before pulling back. She felt strong hands slip up her thighs, massaging steadily as she curled into the blonde's body, burying her face into the connect of the other woman's neck and shoulder once more.

"It's working," she whispered before slipping her hand between their bodies and pressing upward generously, her free hand holding her wife closely as they moved together, still perfectly synchronized.

* * *

The incandescent glow flickered against the walls, licking at the golden flecks already present in the brunette's eyes. Her wife watched as the warmth fluttered across caramel peaks and valleys, washing Santana in a sea of radiating heat and whiskey-rich comfort. Brittany continuously threaded her fingers through the still damn midnight strands nestled beneath her chin, the slightest smile of contentment tugging behind her cheekbones as she basked in the first moments of unhindered, untouched by obligation bliss.

"'Tana?" The first syllable was soundly swallowed by the blonde's nerves as her free hand pressed against her wife's bare back, molding their bodies together more readily as the brunette shifted inward, nodding against the dancer's chest. "Have you ever thought about having Dylan christened?"

"You can't give me multiple orgasms and then ask questions like that without a little warning," Santana grumbled before stretching out her limbs, mewling slightly before curling back into her wife's side. "Have you thought about it? I mean, we're not exactly a photo of religiosity Britt-Britt."

"Well I mean, you went to church when you were younger, right?" The brunette nodded, her fingers drifting against Brittany's stomach in soothing circles. "I just thought maybe we should think about it – about starting to go to church, so if she has questions, she can come to us. I mean, I don't want to force her into anything, and I'm not saying we should join a cult but – "

"But it would be nice for her to grow up having some sense of faith, or at least the beginnings of it. She would always have a group of people who believed in and supported her, aside from her family." The blonde nodded in turn, running her palm slowly against her wife's back. "So not so much of a christening, but more of a dedication you mean?"

"I guess so," Brittany agreed, scrunching her brow slightly. "It couldn't hurt for us to start going to church, could it?"

"I very seriously doubt that we'll be struck down by lightning, if that's what you're thinking sweetheart," the brunette chuckled. "Do you want to try it out? I mean, I'm not exactly comfortable in churches, with the whole gay thing, but we could look into it, if you wanted to." She masked her hesitance with insipid layer of confidence, her pauses not going unnoticed by the warm body beneath her.

"I think we should," the dancer finally determined. "Quinn used to go to church too, right? Maybe we could go with her one Sunday."

Santana shook her head harshly, the tips of her hair whipping against her wife's cheek. "If we went, I would want it to just be us I think." Her body relaxed slightly as Brittany nodded once more against the top of her head. "But we have to be careful about this sweetheart. I don't want you to get your hopes up."

"I know," the blonde barely whispered.

"I just have a feeling that we'll meet a lot of opposition before we find a church that we're comfortable with, and I know how much that has hurt you before." The fingertips that had been tracing the C-section scars across Brittany's stomach paused before Santana flattened her palm against the skin there. "I just want to make sure you're ready for everything this is going to entail."

The dancer nodded slowly, worrying her bottom lip in her teeth; her wife waited patiently as a thoughtful expression crossed the freckled features above her, slowly morphing into a cross between resignation and hopefulness. "I want to give her every opportunity in the world. I want her to see all that she can see, hear everything she could possibly want to hear, and be exposed to as much as we can offer her. If there is something I can provide for our child, I want to do it, because I don't want her to miss out on the things around her, and I feel like maybe this is one of those things. I want to be able to give her all of the tools and experiences to become the person she's supposed to be. Maybe she won't like going to church when she's older or maybe she'll love it and develop a really strong faith, but at this age, it can't hurt for us to try, can it?"

A soft smile playing against her lips, Santana shook her head against her wife's chest. "No, Britt-Britt, I don't think it can." Tilting upward, she pressed a single kiss beneath the blonde's jawline, intertwining their fingers and allowing her eyes to flutter closed once more.

* * *

"How's our baby girl?"

"Mohawk free?" Santana chimed in, pouring coffee into both of their mugs before tilting peppermint mocha creamer into the dark liquid.

"I've managed to keep Noah from doing any permanent damage to your offspring thus far," Rachel agreed. "I actually have a photo of them from last night. It's rather adorable."

"I am _not _adorable," Puck called from across the room.

"Says the man who's been playing This Little Piggy with an infant for the past half hour," the brunette retorted, watching as the scowl immediately soften upon Dylan's mouth bursting with giggles, transforming into a small smile. "I'll send it to you guys; hold on." She tapped at her phone a few times, finally hitting send, and informing the couple on the other end of the line that the picture was in transit as Puck continued tugging at their daughter's toes, changing his voice for each new piglet.

"Oh my god, it's adorable!" The pair exclaimed, causing Puck's grin to sink once more into a grimace.

"I am _not _adorable," he grumbled in Dylan's direction. "_You _are adorable, but I am not. We need to work on getting your mothers to understand that." The infant simply cocked her head at her uncle and gave him a wide smile before babbling incoherently for several seconds. "I'm choosing to take that as a yes Squirt. Glad to have you on my side."

"She woke up a few times last night, but I just played that video you gave me, and she went right back to sleep."

"What video?" Santana hissed at her wife.

A guilty look spread over the blonde's features and she hastily covered the mouthpiece on her phone and removed it from speaker, shifting the guilt to apology. "I may or may not have recorded you singing one of those Spanish lullabies to her because I thought it was really cute and then may or may not have sent it to Rachel to play for Dylan if she got fussy in the middle of the night." She lifted the phone from the palm of her hand, tucking it against her shoulder.

"I can't even be mad at that," the brunette grumbled, "because it's really adorable."

"I am _not _adorable!" they both heard echoing through the earpiece.

"Not everything is about you Noah," Rachel barked back. "Anyway you two, Dylan is perfectly content at present, and will be bundled up liberally before being taken to the park around noon, to ensure maximum sun exposure and thus, a higher temperature allocation."

"Thanks Rach. We'll check in again later," Brittany chirped before hanging up the phone. She twisted toward her wife, slinging an arm around her waist and pulling her more closely. "So what are the day's plans?"

* * *

"Watch your step," she whispered, lightly grasping both of the blonde's hands as she walked backward, occasionally shifting her gaze over her shoulder to ensure they were moving in the right direction.

"How is it possible that you use blindfolds more _outside _of the bedroom than in it?" Brittany's playful words were accompanied by a smirk her wife readily returned, though she received no explanation as they continued walking. Her feet hit softer ground, sinking in beneath her and her lips quirked once more as a light crackling whispered against her ears. "You didn't."

"I did," Santana refuted proudly, a grin nearly splitting her cheeks. She eased the blindfold off of the blonde's eyes, allowing her gaze to wash over the set up just yards away from the waves lapping at the edge of the shore.

* * *

_"Britt, where are we going?"_

_"It's a surprise."_

_"It's always a surprise," she grumbled in response. "You would think packing all of our bags while I was asleep and driving me to an obscure location that I had no prior knowledge of would be enough surprising for one weekend."_

_"You sound like Rachel. That's gross."_

_"I'll continue to converse in Berry-esque soliloquies until you divulge the nature of this – " The brunette's teasing was cut off by a firm mouth pressed against her own, pushing the remaining consonants and vowels back into the darkest recesses of her throat._

_"Just hush and let me spoil you for once Santana Marie."_

* * *

Wide blue eyes took in the rushing waters, the low-lit sky, and the wide circle of votive candles surrounding a flickering campfire, with the tent from their first trip to the state park set up not far away. Those same eyes flit across the scene before catching a glimpse of hesitant chocolate, shy in their abilities. Warm, freckled hands slipped into caramel squeezing once gently before Brittany pressed her mouth against her wife's, spreading extensive gratitude against every fraction of the soft lips there. "Thank you," she finally whispered out.

"Dance with me," Santana easily returned.

"There's no music."

"There's ocean waves, a crackling bonfire, and all the cheesy love songs in the world saved right here," she chuckled, tapping her forefinger against her temple before folding the blonde into her arms. One arm wrapped generously around the dancer's waist as the other readjusted their fingers before Santana began swaying them gently.

Nuzzling into her wife's neck, Brittany hummed out a sigh of sheer contentment before murmuring, "Sing our wedding song."

* * *

**AN: Any suggestions for the song? I'll be continuing their anniversary weekend in the next chapter, but cut it off there, as I haven't updated in over a week, and really wasn't making much headway as far as this chapter was concerned. Therefore, I apologize for the length, as well as the time it took to get _something _up for you guys. As always, if there is something you want to see more or less of, or something you'd like to see addressed, reviews and PMs are always welcome. Feedback helps, haha. :) xx A**


	25. Chapter 25: Never Have I Ever

Santana nodded into the waves caressing her cheek, a gentle smile playing chords against her lips. She hummed the beginning acoustic strums, allowing the memory of their slow spins across the floor to flood her, finally flashing back to the present in time to whisper the last line of the opening verse. "This is the day I make you mine." Lifting their intertwined hands toward the night sky, she twisted the blonde underneath her left arm, spinning her once before folding the lithe body against her own once more. "The way your hair lies, sometimes unrecognized," she continued, curling one of the longer strands of Brittany's hair around her forefinger without removing her palm from where it sat contentedly against the dancer's back. "You looked right through me, when there was no one else. I sat beside you and became myself, today." Santana pressed more closely against the blonde, allowing the crackling of the fire beside them to compliment her light hums, twisting and airy against the humidity of the night sky as her mind fluttered away once more. Despite the heat burning into her jean clad thighs, she remembered the chilled metal of the bench, the cool burning of the cigarettes they had given up, and the thickening darkness after the party she attended with Puck. She could feel the worn fabric of her plaid button down, the scrutinizing gaze of a seventeen year old blonde, and the quickened thudding of her heart in her chest when said blonde offered her a ride home without questions asked. "I sat beside you and became myself," she repeated.

"You are the one I've been waiting for today," Brittany sang softly, her grin felt against caramel skin. The seizing in her chest kept the brunette from singing the penultimate lines, instead choosing to press a firm kiss to her wife's temple as they remained wrapped into one another, relishing in the familiar warmth they'd lost weeks before. Santana muffled a yawn into the blonde's shoulder, letting out a slight whimper against the shivering that wracked her frame. "Are you tired sweetheart?" The photographer nodded pitifully, receiving a quiet chuckle in response. "Let's get you to bed then Nearly-sleeping Beauty." Tossing sand onto the remaining flames, Brittany escorted her wife into the tent, holding back the flaps and murmuring a teasing "_m'lady_," as the brunette shuffled inside.

"Can we try something?" Santana whispered as they settled underneath the innumerous blankets she'd commandeered into the small space. Her wife nodded, feeling a dually delegated shiver run through her when a still chilled hand rested against her hip bone, rubbing slow circles into the skin there. The photographer pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth, pulling back with a small smile. "I love your patience." The blonde's eyebrows furrowed automatically, but Santana left another kiss there, smoothing the lines into nonexistence. "I love your faith in me," she continued, as her lips quirked. "I love your dedication to our family." The hand tucked at the hem of Brittany's shirt slid slightly upward, resting again once it had made its way to her ribs. "I love how wildly you dream." That same hand applied weight to the dancer's torso, flattening her back to parallel the ground beneath them as Santana lifted a thigh over her wife's body. "I love that you try to make mornings bearable for me," she whispered, receiving a lighthearted chuckle from her Brittany's unoccupied lips. Leaning forward, the brunette ghosted her lips against a pale neck, leaving a blazing trail of kisses against the exposed skin as her palm slithered downward, caressing each inch of skin with reverence. "I love that you always smell like the summer sunshine." The dancer giggled once more, a light flush overtaking her porcelain skin before her laughter transformed into a gasp and her hips canted upward subconsciously.

Unwilling to stop her body's motions, she focused what little attention she still retained toward the bright eyes above her. Lifting upward, she seized both of her wife's cheeks, pulling their lips together. "I love that you hold me like I'm the most precious thing you've ever seen," she whispered, her breaths steadily growing more erratic. "I love that you would do anything to keep Dylan and me safe and happy." The second syllable of her last word was lost in the beginning of a moan as Santana pressed further into her; she had moved to straddle one of the blonde's legs and left behind a film of wet heat against Brittany's thigh as she worked diligently within the apex of her wife's thighs.

"I love that you only let your walls down for me," she breathed out, struggling for oxygen against the heady sensations washing over her. The combination of the warmth of Santana's words, the sparkle in her eyes, and the feeling of her body against Brittany's was enough to intoxicate her fully. She fought against succumbing to the feelings just yet, and managed one last declaration before her muscles went rigid and she lost all coherent thought. "I love how strongly you love." Unable to find an adequate response, the brunette surged forward to capture the dancer's lips between her own, pouring every other unspoken, yet admired trait from her mouth and into her wife's as Brittany shook relentlessly below her.

"I love everything about you," Santana finally whispered, watching as the blonde's eyes slowly fluttered open, locking on the chocolate above.

Humming her agreement, Brittany seconded the sentiment with a drowsy nod, tugging on a caramel hand to bring the brunette toward her, finally settling her wife comfortably against her chest. "I love you too," she murmured, reaching for her phone in her jacket pocket, to ensure there had been no emergencies with Dylan before they both allowed the sandman to work his magic. _12:26._"Happy anniversary sweetheart. 11/11, make a wish."

"I don't need to. I already have more than I ever could have wished for," Santana husked back, "but happy anniversary to you too Britt."

* * *

Brittany was jolted awake by a cool palm traveling the length of her torso, tracing lopsided shapes into her skin. Her gaze was met by a lazily smiling brunette propped up on one elbow, outstandingly beautiful and even more outstandingly topless. "Are you cold or just excited to see me?" she joked, rolling onto her side and placing an open-mouthed kiss to Santana's sternum.

"A bit of both," she shrugged, her grin twisting wickedly. "Granted, I could think of something we could do to solve both of those problems." Not needing much more convincing, Brittany tugged her t-shirt over her head and molded their bodies together, allowing the rush in her brain to swarm her as the similar sounding waves clouded her hearing. The brunette's chest became a playful game of connect the dots as the dancer nipped her way further south slowly but surely, and despite her wife's incessant pleas for her to _hurry the hell up and quit teasing_, she deliberately swirled her tongue against a pert nipple.

"Excuse me, there's no – oh _fuck_." Three pairs of eyes widened comically as blue and brown locked immediately on the bright green peering in from the single flap of their tent.

"Get out you perv," Santana exclaimed, tugging the nearest blanket against her chest. As the opening fell shut once more, filtered only by the early morning breeze, the brunette felt Brittany's forehead collapse against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around the dancer, and ran her fingers through tangled hair when she felt the body against her own begin shaking violently. "Hey," she cooed, "it's okay. He's gone."

"I'm actually not," a voice called from immediately outside of their tent.

The blonde continued quaking in her wife's arms and Santana tilted her chin up, expecting tear stained cheeks and watery eyes. "This is hilarious," Brittany finally managed, her chest cracking with unhindered laughter.

"This is not hilarious," the young man broke in again, and Santana fought her own giggles as she noted the dancer's lips disappearing in an attempt to pinch them together and withhold her chuckles. "You aren't supposed to camp on the beach, and you _really _aren't supposed to do _that_either."

"Duly noted," the brunette quipped. "You can leave now." Her dismissive tone went unnoticed as she heard the man's shuffling feet still just inches away from the entrance of their tent. "You already ruined my _good-morning-happy-anniversary _sex, so I'd recommend you take a page out of Dora's book and _vaminos verga_, before I go all Lima –"

Securing her palm over Santana's mouth, the blonde narrowed her eyes slightly, wordlessly demanding silence from her wife. "We'll be off of the beach within the hour," she called back sweetly. "Thank you for your concern." The brunette licked the dancer's hand, upon which Brittany immediately retracted it, scrunching her face in mild disgust before straightening up as best she could and stretching her arms above her head.

"Off the beach within the hour when you're giving me a free show?" Santana mimicked. "That's dirty on so many nonsexual levels."

"It's late babe," the blonde returned easily, clicking her phone's home screen to check the time. "Don't you want to get back to Chicago and see if Puck's testicles need removal?"

"Close second to morning sex," she murmured, "which is the only reason I'm in the slightest bit of agreement over you putting on clothing." Brittany smirked before pulling her wife toward her, leaving a single, searing kiss on the brunette's still puffy lips before tugging her sweatshirt over her head and sticking out her tongue playfully.

* * *

"_Mija_! Did you grow while we were gone?"

"I still think she would look badass with a mohawk."

"Language, Puck. I will not have my daughter's first words being 'badass,' even if that would be a kind of cool story to tell her when she's older and in denial about how much she's like her other mother."

"While typically, I'm in complete agreement with the idea of pushing gender roles to the wayside in an effort to exterminate discrimination, I'd have to agree with the girls on this one Noah."

"Her first word will be like, churro, or taco. Ten bucks on it, sis."

"Ten bucks on me removing your testicles for that idea too, _bro_."

In the midst of the rapid fire conversation around her, Dylan sweetly tilted her head, absorbing the words flying back and forth with astuteness. She mimicked the sounds she could manage, babbling as though she were an active participant in the conversation while tugging gently at the collar of Santana's jacket. The brunette tilted her head downward, flashing a shy smile at the infant in her arms who insistently palmed her cheek before nuzzling into her mother's neck. Her tiny fingers found purchase around a lock of hair, gripping it, though not tugging. Shifting Dylan in her arms, Santana felt her chest tighten and her smile widen incrementally. "I missed you too _mija,_" she whispered. "Let's go get dinner started for everyone."

Settling her daughter into a high chair near the counter, she hummed under her breath as she moved quickly back and forth across the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad and layering her browned turkey meat and cheese into a pan while simultaneously pulling a small pre-prepared vegan lasagna for Rachel in the oven as well. "I deserve a glass of wine, don't I, Lisita?" Dylan smacked her hands against the tray in front of her and Santana chuckled to herself. "You're definitely my child."

"Noah, I will not allow your perverse nature to disrupt the integrity of my performance."

"I don't think streaking on opening night would be a good idea." A pause rested heavily in the conversation. "Like, at all. I think Rachel might kill you."

"I do have an impressive arsenal of –"

"She can't kill me with song. Bust my eardrums maybe, but not kill me."

"She'll sick her merry band of dancing, prancing gays on you Puckerman. I wouldn't test the power of the angry, Broadway deprived fairies," Santana grinned as she walked back into the living room, Dylan plopped firmly on her hip, her head already nestled back into the brunette's hair. "That and I wouldn't want to have to hurt you for messing up Britt's first choreographed performance." The blonde flashed an affectionate smile in her wife's direction, a light flush covering her cheeks as Santana chuckled into her wine glass. "Now, if you all don't mind, dinner will be ready in fifteen, and the table needs to be set." Puck nodded, reluctantly moving across the room as Brittany and Rachel carried the suitcases into the master bedroom.

* * *

"Never had I ever had a fivesome." Three pairs of wide eyes met twinkling hazel. "It's true. Threesome, sure. Foursome? There was that one time. Never five. That just gets weird, you know?"

"No, we don't know," the women all echoed back.

"Never have I ever sung off-key." Santana rolled her eyes, but she and the other two at the table took sizable gulps from their glasses.

"Never have I ever used a strap-on." Both the photographer and her wife tilted their glass back, swallowing the remains of their wine.

"Santana," Rachel chastised, "you're supposed to say things you've never done!"

"Yeah, well I'm pretty sure I've run out of things I've never done Berry." Brittany chuckled at the combination of the brunette's response and her counterpart's amalgamated expression of disgust, shock, and pride, hiding her reddening cheeks behind her now empty glass of wine.

"Never have I ever broken a bone."

"Lame Blondie, mega lame!" Puck exclaimed, having worked through several glasses of his own, as he'd had to drink for the majority of the confessions. His pronouncement that the item was unworthy didn't keep him from refilling his goblet however, though he didn't owe the table another sip. He twisted his mouth left and right before his indecision transformed into a sly smirk. "Never have I ever slept with a guy."

Rachel tilted her head back, swigging away the last of her wine, while waiting for a reaction from her friends. What she wasn't expecting was Santana to violently shove her chair backward, exiting the dining room without another word. Brittany sent a glare in her brother in law's direction for several seconds before it wavered and her shoulders slumped with a sigh. "Rachel, if you want to just crash here, you're welcome to. We can go into rehearsal together in the morning. Noah, I'll make the couch up for you."

"I'll do it Britt," he said quickly, taking note of her use of his given name. "Tell Santana I'm sorry if I upset her." She nodded once, briskly, before following her wife's path toward their bedroom, where she found the woman in question cradling Dylan tightly against her chest as silent tears traced down her cheeks.

"Sweetheart?" she whispered, tentatively shutting the door behind her and resting her palm against her the brunette's lower back once she'd reached her. Santana shook her head, cradling their child more closely. "Sweetheart, talk to me." She eased their daughter away from the photographer, settling her back into her bassinet.

"I went to Dr. Jameson last week, after the talk we had at Halloween." Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, but a look of realization crossed Brittany's features and she nodded twice. "I talked to him about a few fertility tests, just to see if there would be any problems if we decided I would carry our next child." Santana's voice was devoid of emotion, and her expression was blank.

"And?" the blonde prompted, dragging the word out slightly.

"He thinks there's a good chance there might be damage from the rape. It might prevent me from being able to carry to term," she confessed. "And Puck mentioning – "

"I know babe," Brittany cooed, carefully caressing the back of her wife's head. "We'll figure it out if we get there, okay? Don't worry about it right now."

"But – "

"But nothing." Her tone was firm, but the softness brimming against her eyelashes gave her away. "Just remember that we have one perfect little girl, and she is all that matters right now. We have her, and our friends, and each other. No matter what gets thrown our way, I know that we can handle it, as long as we do it _together_." She pressed her mouth against Santana's temple, wrapping her arms around the brunette's small waist. "Let's go to bed sweetheart."

* * *

**AN: As promised, this update was a bit quicker. I'm hoping to get something out over my Thanksgiving break, but I'm making no guarantees for regular updates until after December 6th, when my semester is over. The song I ended up using was "Today," by Joshua Radin, which can be found on YouTube, though I recommend the acoustic version. :) As always, comments and criticism are appreciated.**

**I also wanted to take the time to thank you all for your unending support. I hadn't expected so much dedication from you all, and the number of follows and reviews is far beyond my expectations. So thank you for your kind words, patience, and for every single view. You all are wonderful. Xx A**


	26. Chapter 26: We Should Have Flown

**There are a couple of questions for you lovelies at the end of this chapter, so please look at the author's note at the bottom.**

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" A terse nod was all the woman received in response. "You know you don't have to come."

"I want to," Santana determined, her tone stern, but laced in hesitancy. "We said we'd do this for her." Her wife returned the nod before pressing her weight against the palm of her hand, connecting with the chilled glass of the front door. A rush of warmth coated them, as did a cacophony of melded voices, shuffling feet, and the odd laughter of a group of children tucked into a day care setting to the left.

"Hi, welcome!" Twin gazes that had been locked on the coloring book ridden tables flickered upward, meeting the slightly crinkled eyes and wide smile of the woman in front of them, extending her hand. "My name is Ruth. I'm the pastor's wife. It's lovely to meet you –" Her voice trailed off, lilting gently at the end, without her expression faltering.

"Brittany," the blonde announced. "This is Santana," she continued, extending her hand palm-side up in her wife's direction. "And Dylan, our daughter," she finished, nearly forgoing the normally added edifying moniker.

"She's just gorgeous!" Ruth gushed. "She looks just like you, except those eyes!" Brittany pinched her wife's arm, reminding her of the deal they'd agreed on before leaving the apartment just a half hour before. Santana nodded as the woman reached for the infant, whereupon Dylan immediately tucked her chin into her mother's shoulder, hiding beneath the sheath of the brunette's hair. "I suppose she's feeling a bit shy this morning," the woman queried, receiving but a shrug and self-deprecating smile from the woman holding the bundled child. Santana adjusted Dylan's dress beneath the blanket, tugging it downward and double checking that her leggings were still snuggly fitted around her ankles. "If you head on through this way, the service will be starting in about fifteen minutes." The couple nodded again, flashing identical smiles and moving toward the front of the pews, having settled on the idea that they'd fully dedicate and immerse themselves in the feelings of the church.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Brittany whispered, tilting her head in Ruth's direction. The brunette shook her head, a tense smile tugging at her cheeks. "If you feel uncomfortable at any point, we can leave. Don't forget that."

"I know swee – " Santana immediately cut off the term of endearment as a distinctly official shadow approached them.

"My wife mentioned you two were new to our Oasis family," the man pronounced, smiling warmly. "It's wonderful to have you here. The worship portion will begin in just a few moments. Do either of you sing or dance?" They both grinned, nodding. "We like to show our thankfulness through music, so I hope maybe it will be a good introduction to our church. I'd like to personally welcome you; I pray that you feel comfortable."

"Thank you –" Brittany trailed off, still smiling brightly in appreciation.

"Dayne. Pastor Dayne."

"Well thank you then, Pastor Dayne."

The pair settled into the seats as the band set up, a younger brunette taking the stage with the microphone and leading the congregation in an upbeat song to begin, both of them giggling as the pastor danced around through the chairs, pulling members of the church upwards to encourage more energy within their motions. Switching Dylan off between them at the end of each song, they slowly got into the swing of things, literally, and Santana felt her earlier tension waxing and waning as the songs switched. As she felt the end of the "worshiping" portion closing in on their time, she felt a similar grip tightening around her chest, smothering her lungs and encompassing her heart.

"I'm gonna get some air Britt. I'll be right back." She placed the palm of her hand against Brittany's shoulder, taking in the silent question of _are you okay_and mutely answering with a slight nod. She moved swiftly down the center aisle, feeling the previous warmth falling out of the pit in her stomach, the last remaining dredges giving a half-hearted farewell. She pulled her coat more closely around her torso, digging in an inside pocket for the worn pack of cigarettes she knew would lay there; she lit one and inhaled deeply, allowing the nicotine to provoke her vision to swim slightly, though she recognized it may well have been the beginning of tears cresting at her eyelashes. "It's just church," she murmured under her breath between drags. "One more hour, and you can leave, and never look back if you want. Britt will understand." Flicking the growing ashes off of the end of her cigarette, her brow furrowed. "She will totally understand," she reiterated, fighting the gnawing sense of worry clouding her brain. Allowing the cooled stress reliever to drop from her fingers to the ground, she stomped it beneath her heeled boot and took one last breath to steady herself before walking back into the church, hearing yet another song playing through the speakers as she approached her wife.

"You okay?" She nodded, forcing a smile and tickling beneath Dylan's chin as the infant squirmed in her mother's arms to the guitar strumming. "You sure?" Santana nodded once more before directing her attention back towards the band and swaying lightly, making sure to keep her hands and adoring glances to herself. As the music tapered off for the last time, they both sat, careful not to appear too close, as the sermon began. Like clockwork, the brunette felt her pulse pick up, despite the reassuring glances from the young singer next to her, and her lungs refused breath once again. She gasped once, twice, and a third time before Brittany's brow furrowed and she twisted to observe her wife. The blonde knit their fingers together, squeezing once before she faced forward again, glad to feel Santana's quaking fingers stilling beneath her own. She tried her hardest to focus on the pastor's words, but her attention wavered each time she felt the brunette's muscles tense against her palm.

"Excuse me," they heard from behind them, and Brittany turned over her shoulder, grasping Dylan around her stomach tightly to keep the little girl from fidgeting. She met Ruth's mirroring blue eyes, harsh and unrelenting. "I need to ask you both to refrain from the blatant physical contact. It's making others in the congregation uncomfortable." Santana's eyebrows furrowed automatically, as the past few minutes had flashed through her mind's eye, remembering the soft smile from the singer and the lack of disapproval from the pastor. "It's fine that you two are together, so long as you don't boast it within these walls. We hold strong beliefs in regards to homosexuality."

The photographer quickly unlaced their fingers, crossing her arms against her chest and biting her bottom lip to fight the tears waging war against the inside of her eyelids. "I'm going to go outside for a second, okay?" The blonde nodded dumbly, pulling Dylan more closely to her chest and trying to steady her own breathing. The words of the sermon fell on deaf ears, and after ten minutes, Brittany pulled the diaper bag from beneath her chair and made her way quickly toward the exit. Allowing the door to fall closed behind her, she took in a deep breath before tears broke against her cheeks. Santana met her readily, pulling their daughter into her arms and bouncing her lightly as she ran a soothing arm up and down her wife's back.

"We can try somewhere else," she supplied in what she hoped was a helpful, if non-confrontational way.

"I just want to go home." Santana found herself barely able to whisper the blonde's name, and received nothing more than a shook head in response. "I just really want to go home."

"Okay sweetheart," the photographer acquiesced. "We'll go home."

* * *

Santana's fingers flew across the screen of her phone as she texted Quinn, explaining the situation at the church in as much detail as she could manage with her shaking limbs and quivering chin. She had another cigarette tucked between her pointer and middle finger, despite trying to convince herself that she didn't need them. She heard movement behind her, and made to throw her cigarette over the balcony, assuming that Brittany had successfully settled Dylan down for a nap, but the blonde stilled her hand before holding her other palm up. Santana simply quirked an eyebrow and the dancer let out a deep sigh. "Can I have one?" she whispered, her voice meek and her body language slumped. The brunette nodded, reaching inside her jacket and pulling out the last two cigarettes within her pack.

"No judging," Santana teased, a cheeky grin coloring her features.

"I've had enough of that for one day," her wife bit back, twisting around and leaning onto the baluster of the balcony. The brunette eased out of her seat, slipping an arm around Brittany's waist and pulling her backwards to mold their bodies together. She could feel the tension slowly easing out of the dancer's muscles, and she pressed a solitary kiss to her shoulder to further release the worry.

"Q mentioned a church a little bit outside of the city," Santana began hesitantly. "They're supposed to be more tolerant – more accepting." She received nothing in response, and let out a sigh before tightening her grip around her wife's torso. "But we can call it quits now if you want to. It's up to you Britt." The early afternoon air settled around them, blanketing them in a chill that snuck between their bodies and left the distance between them nearly impassable.

"I just don't understand," the blonde finally whimpered, leaning into her wife's embrace. "I just held your hand. Would it have mattered if she didn't know? Would she have even said anything?"

"I don't know sweetheart. I really don't know."

"I don't want to have to hide who you are to me. I honestly don't think God cares, does He?"

"I've got it on pretty good authority that He doesn't Britt-Britt. We aren't hurting anyone. I would think that, if anything, the big guy would be happy that we're bringing more love into the world." The blonde nodded weakly, still not entirely convinced. "Besides, lesbians are hot. We're giving him and all the angels a pretty good show down here, don't you think?" Despite herself, the dancer chuckled, the sound vibrating against Santana's torso and provoking a small smile of her own.

"We can try that other church," Brittany decided, nodding once as if to confirm her own words, "maybe after Thanksgiving."

"Whatever you want beautiful."

"I want to finish packing for tomorrow, drive to Ohio, and focus on the family we already have. That, and I really think I want to go into a food coma for at least twenty four hours."

Santana rolled her eyes good-naturedly and nodded against the blonde's back. "I think we can work something out."

* * *

Turns out the only thing worse than packing for a day at the aquarium is packing for a week at the grandmothers'. Both Holly and April insisted that anything the couple would forget could easily be replaced if it weren't already in their possession, but that didn't stop Santana from double and triple checking their packing lists right up until they were set to leave.

"Babe, I'm sure we have everything." The brunette grunted in acknowledgment but continued running her eyes over the lined notebook in her hand. "Seriously, we need to get on the road. We still have to pick up Quinn, and Andy has been waiting in the living room for fifteen minutes with Rory."

"What if we forgot something?"

"The world isn't going to end."

"What if we don't have enough diapers?"

"We'll stop and buy some."

"Or bottles?"

"I still have my boobs, don't I?" Brittany teased, biting back a chuckle and glancing down her shirt.

Tilting her head upward, Santana sighed, releasing the breath with a slight smile. "Yes, you do. Really nice boobs, I might add," she replied, allowing herself to fall into the blonde's arms. "I'm freaking out, aren't I?"

"Yes, yes you are."

"I should just let it go, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, yes you should. You can write about it in your journal later," the dancer grinned, pinching her wife's waist and pressing an open mouthed kiss to her cheek. "But now, we must road trip!" she announced dramatically, zipping their suitcases and dragging them off of the bed and toward the living room where Andy and Rory sat, patiently and not-so-patiently respectively.

"Are we finally weaving?" Rory questioned, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet. "I'm weady to pick up Quinn." Santana nodded, smiling softly at the little girl who'd been tickling Dylan's feet while she waited, lifting the infant's car seat up and slipping both her purse and the diaper bag onto one shoulder. She extended her free hand to Rory, who clung tightly to the caramel fingers, skipping as Andy and Brittany struggled behind the pair with the remaining luggage. Settling into the car after several rounds of what looked like Jenga in the trunk of the Jeep, Santana and Brittany fell into the front, Andy sat in the next row behind the driver's seat, allowing Dylan to tug at his shirt sleeve, and Rory's car seat was set up in the very back, where she happily bounced to vintage Barney episodes on Andy's phone, singing softly under her breath. When they pulled up to Quinn's building, the woman quickly threw her bag into the trunk, sliding in on the other side of Dylan's car seat and ruffling both Rory and Brittany's hair affectionately from her place in the backseat. She leaned over the infant to press her lips quickly to Andy's, murmuring a quiet hello.

"Gross. Don't expose my child to that heterosexual crap; I don't want to scar her," Santana teased from the steering wheel.

"Lezpez, put it in drive and let's go. Four and a half hours to Lima is plenty for you to blast Scissor Sisters and rebuke any heterosexuality back here." She quirked an eyebrow at her best friend's glower before buckling her seatbelt, intertwining her fingers with Andy's, and pressing a loving kiss onto Dylan's forehead. "Come on Santana. April will have your head for the dressing if we're late again this year."

"We should have flown," the brunette grumbled, resting her head in her palms and letting out a long breath, scowling when her wife chuckled, shaking her head in fake sympathy.

"Let's go sweetheart."

* * *

**AN: This chapter is close to my heart, as the opposition that Britt and Santana meet within the church is a mirror of a situation my girlfriend and I found ourselves in just a few weeks ago. It was my way of working through that frustration. But, on to the fun stuff!**

**Okay, I have something in the works as far as plot lines go, but it would require a pretty significant time jump, so I need opinions. It can (and will) be introduced in the next chapter, but in order for it to get really rolling, we would have to jump nearly six months. So we would go from Thanksgiving/Christmas to May, essentially enough, and then we'd have a chance to get this story really moving again. Any opposition to that jump? Also, do you guys want a Christmas themed chapter? It will be a long one, encompassing the majority of the holiday.**

**As always, thank you for the kind words, and leave any criticisms in reviews.**


	27. Chapter 27: No

"There, perfect," Brittany murmured, halting her humming as she placed the last ornament on their tree, dusting her hands automatically, despite the lack of dirt on them. She tucked her finger beneath it, carefully observing the words splayed across the metal, boasting their daughter's first Christmas. It hung just beneath a nearly identical ornament, one of their initials and anniversary date, engraved into a silver outline of Ohio.

"No," she heard clearly behind her, the tone slightly disgruntled. She chuckled to herself, rolling her eyes before turning to see her wife absorbed in her computer, finishing the editing on a last minute shoot she'd completed earlier that morning. Her glasses were perched at the edge of her nose and her eyes squinted slightly, the only betrayal of her dedication to the screen in front of her. "No," the voice repeated, and looking down, she saw Dylan standing near the tree, her face molded into a look of mild disapproval, while her hands rested against her tiny hips.

Santana looked up, taking in the scene before her, her eyebrows disappearing beneath her bangs. She matched her wife's chuckle, a slight grin tugging at her cheeks, as though she expected nothing less from their daughter, who'd recently discovered her favorite, and frustratingly enough, only word – _no._"Mija, what's wrong with the Christmas tree?" she murmured, settling her laptop to the side of the couch cushions, now covered in snowflake blankets and clad in pillows boasting angels. Dylan stomped her feet in displeasure, lifting her arms and asking to be picked up. Brittany scooped the child into her arms before she removed the ornament, moving it to several other places, receiving several more of the coveted word before a small smile graced their daughter's features and she nodded.

"Yes?" the blonde coaxed, mirroring the nod. Dylan simply reflected the motion, but refused to repeat the word. "Can you say yes?" she queried, raising her eyebrows in anticipation.

"No."

Despite herself, Santana giggled, earning herself a glare from her wife and a wide grin from her daughter. "She'll talk when she wants to talk sweetheart."

"She can say no, but she can't said Mama?" The disappointment was evident in Brittany's tone, and the brunette immediately pulled herself from the couch and moved across the room.

"Be patient babe. I'm not exactly over the moon that our child's first word had to be a negative one, but she'll talk when she's ready." The blonde opened her mouth, but was immediately cut off. "I know she's almost six months old, but I wouldn't worry about it just yet. She was premature, and Dr. Jameson said her development might be a little behind until she's a toddler, remember?"

"She's toddling just fine," Brittany griped as she settled Dylan back onto the floor and watched as she took off across the living room toward her newest stuffed animal, an elf she'd pitched a fit for the week before in Target. "I just – " she let out a frustrated sigh. "I just always imagined her first words to be a little different is all."

* * *

"_Bumblebee, when did little miss sweet cheeks start walking? That seems like the sort of thing you'd tell the grandmothers."_

_Brittany straightened up from her place in front of the oven, having successfully deposited both the cornbread dressing and green bean casserole into the heat. "What do you mean Mom? Dylan isn't walking yet. She's been standing by herself, but she can't – oh my god, Santana! Babe!"_

_"Give me a second sweetheart, I'm showing –"_

_"Santana Marie Lopez-Pierce!" she bellowed, "In the kitchen, _inmediatamente_!"_

_The brunette in question furrowed her brows at the use of her native language and left Puck looking just as puzzled in the living room as she rushed from the living room toward her wife, skidding to a stop when she nearly ran into her daughter who was turning herself in circles with a self-satisfied grin on her face. "_

_Mija," she murmured, a similar smile playing against her cheeks. "Britt, when did she - ?" The blonde shrugged, her eyes pricking with tears as Santana knelt down on one knee. "Dylan, walk to Mama."_

_"No," the little girl grumbled, still spinning in circles. All three women's eyes widened, as did April's when she walked in, hearing the word chanted repeatedly by her grandchild._

_"Baby girl, will you please walk to Mama?" The child stopped spinning, shaking her head slightly to regain her equilibrium before toddling off without issue toward the pair of blondes at the other end of the kitchen, whereupon she was lifted into the air and greeting by brilliant grins and cooed congratulations._

_"She's barely five months," April whispered. "She shouldn't be walking."_

_"With her mother moving like she does, are you really surprised Mama?"_

* * *

"I know Britt. I know," the brunette whispered, wrapping her arms around her wife's waist. "The tree looks incredible though." She pressed a feather light kiss to the blonde's neck, squeezing just that much more tightly around her frame.

"I wanted our first Christmas as a family to be special."

"And it will be," Santana confirmed. "I couldn't ask for our holidays to be any more special." She twisted the dancer around in her arms and slowly began swaying them to the deep, resonating tones of Bing Crosby's words fluttering in the background. "I have the love of my life, the light of my life, and if I'm lucky, a new lens for my Nikon," she winked, the lilt of her teasing washing over her wife and soothing her tension. "Our families will fly out, and we'll cook Christmas dinner like the adults that we pretend to be. We'll drink eggnog, spike Quinn's glass to loosen her up, and watch The Polar Express and It's A Wonderful Life."

"That sounds awesome," Brittany hummed, allowing her weight to settle further into the brunette's body until she felt a tug on the bottom of her pants' leg. Their gazes shifted simultaneously on the little girl beaming up at them, silently requesting that she be folded into their arms. The blonde squatted down, scooping Dylan up with one hand on her back and the other beneath the infant's knees, rocking with her as she had been with her wife moments earlier.

"And the best part?" Brittany quirked an eyebrow as she slung her child around and onto her hip, much to Dylan's delight. "It'll be like that every year, for the rest of our lives." Santana watched lovingly as their daughter nuzzled into the dancer's shoulder, flashing a shy grin at her mother's doting stare. The brunette carefully brushed back a growing curl from the child's forehead, remembering the murderous heartburn her wife suffered through resulting in the dark locks shielding Dylan's skull.

"I can think of a lot of worse ways to spend the holidays every year," the dancer said quietly as she turned around to readjust a few pine branches on their Christmas tree, the motion covering her still frayed nerves at her daughter's lack of speech. "I'm just trying to focus on the positives," she further admitted, "like how we're happy and healthy and together. That's all that should matter, right?"

"Yeah Britt," the brunette sighed, a slight smile playing against her lips. "That's all that should matter." Dylan switched hands as Brittany settled onto the ground, pulling wrapping paper between her legs and sifting through bags of presents they'd yet to even consider putting under the tree. Santana sidled back toward her laptop, flicking the remote in the direction of the television to change it to what had to have been this holiday season's fifty fourth playing of _Mickey's_ _Once Upon A Christmas_, delighted by her daughter's giggle and wide eyed stare. She tucked Dylan into her side as she settled the computer back onto her thighs, relishing in the warmth of the machine against her chilled legs, when she felt blue eyes boring into her head. "Is there something else babe?"

"If she still isn't talking much, or even trying, in say, four or five months, can we talk to Dr. Jameson about it?" The blonde's voice was tentative, hesitant, and wracked with insecurity. Her tense posture seemed to await an impending blow up that never occurred. She was met instead with a lighthearted chuckle and jokingly rolled eyes.

"I'm surprised you haven't called him already."

"Oh, I did," she confessed. "He told me to wait it out, like you said. He said she may just be a bit behind developmentally, and I shouldn't allow it to alarm me." She then directed her attention toward the small box in front of her, containing Quinn's charm bracelet, and studied it carefully as she folded silver paper around it, painstakingly adjusting the corners.

"So I'm guessing you took it upon yourself to get your medical degree on Web M.D. and have determined that our daughter has polyps on her vocal chords or something like that."

"Autism seems more likely," she shrugged offhandedly, in a failed attempt at nonchalance, though her shaking fingers and quivering chin gave away her inherent upset.

"You think Dylan is autistic?" Santana parroted, disbelief coating her words. "Autistic?" she scoffed, shaking her head.

"I triple dog dare you to move her blocks," Brittany challenged, gesturing with her scissors toward the perfectly lined up set of toys on the other end of the living room, far from where the infant was still wholly engaged by the movie scenes flashing across their television.

"Absolutely not," the brunette hissed. "She'll throw a fit. You know how she is about her things."

"Okay, then give me an instance where she responded positively to attention from anyone outside of our immediate family, excluding Quinn." Santana paused, wracking her brain for any situation to use in retaliation. "She couldn't even hold eye contact with that woman from church, and she buries into whoever is holding her when meeting strangers. She won't even really interact with Andy," she continued, not intent on losing steam. "Or how about this? She hasn't so much as babbled since she said her first word. If the answer isn't 'no,' then she doesn't speak at all. How does that not concern you?" Brown eyes flickered up to meet red-rimmed blue, and Santana's heart sank as she watched her wife angrily tear scissors across the wrapping paper before her, her chest heaving with the exertion of containing her tears.

"Britt – " she managed, her own lungs clenching painfully at the single syllable.

"Don't, Santana."

Ignoring her wife's protests, she folded herself off of the couch and crawled across the hardwood floors, settling down next to her wife who was now curling ribbons with nothing short of infuriation, viciously sliding the scissors against the material over and over again, until the accessory in question was ripped to shreds. "Look at her," she whispered. Brittany fought against the cooing tone and shook her head. "Look at her," she repeated, her tone slightly more demanding. "Dylan Elise Lopez-Pierce, born July 29th, 2018 at three pounds, four ounces, and fifteen inches long." The blonde sniffled, attempting in vain to stifle the quivering smile fighting to pronounce itself on her lips. "If we found out tomorrow that she wasn't ours, would you love her any less?"

"No, of course not," Brittany quickly acknowledged before her eyes widened. "She is ours though, right? I mean, I was on a lot of medication, and –"

Santana chuckled, cutting off her thought with a firm kiss. "Yes, she's ours. I'm just saying that regardless of what any doctor tells us about her, I know my love for her won't change, because she's my baby girl. There is nothing anyone could say that would change that. Autistic, a certifiable Einstein, or purple with orange stripes – she's my daughter, and I'll love every single thing about her." She leaned just the slightest bit further into her wife's side before linking their fingers and sighing. "And I know you will too."

Brittany hummed slightly, nodding against the brunette's head. They both sat silently for several long moments, watching the colored, flashing lights from the tree behind them reflect against their daughter's face as she snuggled into one of the Christmas pillows stacked in the corner of the sectional couch. "It's just scary, you know?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music in the background. "I was prepared for so many things, and I keep getting the curveballs I couldn't possibly prepare for."

"I'm pretty sure that's how parenthood works," Santana chuckled before pressing a kiss to her wife's forehead, easing herself upward and back toward the couch. "You do your best and hope beyond hope that your child turns out relatively well-adjusted." Brittany mimicked the other woman's laughter despite herself, and finally nodded. "Now try the ribbon again, without murdering it, and then come cuddle with us."

"Everyone will be here tomorrow though," the blonde immediately protested.

"We can wake up early and finish before we pick them up from the airport. But right now, I feel that cuddles are in order," she announced, flopping onto the cushions to Dylan's chagrin. The little girl curled into her mother's side, her eyes not flickering from the television in front of her. "Because cuddles make Mama less grumpy, right _mija_?" Brittany scoffed, halfheartedly tossing a balled up piece of wrapping paper at her wife's head before sticking her tongue out teasingly.

* * *

"Truth or dare."

"Noah, we're all adults here. I hardly feel it necessary to continue to engage in such immature antics."

"Dare, bitch!" Quinn called back triumphantly over the top of her mug of eggnog, much to Andy's displeasure.

"I dare you – " he tapped his chin mockingly, feigning thought until Santana's fist connected with his bicep and his inquisitive expression transformed into one of indignation. "I dare you," he repeated, "to take your top off on the balcony and sing Jingle Bells once, all the way through."

"Noah James Puckerman," April warned, "that's unnecessary. No one wants to see that."

"I do," came a slightly slurred but still chorused echo from the remaining inhabitants of the room, Holly included, who had already passed off her earlier flirting with their waitress as "latent lesbian tendencies." After the chuckling subsided, Brittany's eyes crossed the room once before she shivered, realizing the balcony door was open and her best friend was standing bare chested toward the street, belting as best she could, fighting the combination of the frigid wind and her already typically breathy alto.

"_Oh what fun, it is to ride –" _

"_Wanky_," Santana breathed out into her wife's ear, earning another set of giggles from the blonde who'd sworn she'd only have two glasses and was now dutifully working on the remains of a third.

"I'm kind of glad that Dylan doesn't understand what's going on this year," Brittany hiccupped, leaning her weight into her wife's side. "If she did, she'd come bouncing into our bedroom at the crack of dawn yelling about Santa while we're all hungover."

"And as it is, she'll probably still be up at the crack of dawn baby." The blonde groaned into Santana's neck as Quinn reentered the living room, tugging viciously at her sweater which was stubbornly caught over her head, leaving her lace bra on full display. "At least you won't be the only one suffering," she chuckled as Andy stood, swaying slightly before directing his unsteady steps toward his girlfriend and adjusting her top. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, despite Puck's grumbles, and wrapped an arm around her waist, leading them back to the couch. When they flopped down in a mess of tangled limbs and unhindered giggles, Brittany smiled warmly at the pair before tugging at her wife's collar.

"I think he's going to propose soon," she whispered, her warm breath teasing around the brunette's earlobe and allowing the lightest tinges of eggnog to meet her senses. "What's better than a Christmas engagement?" she cooed happily.

"One during finals with cheesy song lyrics from the seventies and a sugar bowl surprise," Santana returned easily, a brilliant smile of her own tugging at her cheeks before she twisted her head to plant a kiss against her wife's temple.

* * *

"We should have just bought her a roll of wrapping paper," Brittany teased, watching as Dylan ripped apart the remains of the gifts she was ignoring in favor of the brightly colored decorations. "It would have been much cheaper."

Santana nodded, chuckling quietly as she adjusted the focus on her camera, taking in the contented smiles of her family and friends. She zeroed in on Quinn and Andy who were curled together in the overstuffed armchair she'd yet to convince her wife was unnecessary, even after all these years. Leaning forward slightly, she zoomed in on her best friend's left hand, snapping several photographs of the charm bracelet she'd fallen to pieces over, beautifully complimented by a white gold ring she'd spent much of the morning glancing down at. Puck's laughter caught her attention as Dylan charged in his direction, stumbling and landing in his lap after he'd swiftly maneuvered his guitar around his back. She curled into his chest, burrowing into his neck when Andy smiled at her, tugging slightly at Santana's heartstrings, remembering her conversation with her wife two days prior. April and Holly sat on the ground, building a Lego princess castle with Rory, who would be leaving shortly to go to her mother's family, and was devouring the grandmothers' attention like she'd spent the morning sneaking sugar cookies without her father noticing. Allowing the camera to fall into her lap, she attached her lens cap and adjusted the bottom of her dress before reaching for Brittany's hand, tangling their fingers and watching as a soft smile of contentment overtook her wife's rosy cheeks. "Good Christmas?" she whispered.

"The best."

* * *

**AN: Christmas came just a little early. :) I wanted to get this out for you guys before finals started and in light of all of the "Bram" nonsense. (Most of you wanted a Christmas chapter anyway, haha.) I hope you enjoyed it. We obviously have a new plot line in development, and it will be addressed more in the next chapter, which will begin after the time jump.**

**Thank you for the overwhelming response to the last chapter, and as always, send a little love if you do so feel inclined.**  
**I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving (assuming you're in the U.S.), and godspeed to those of you with finals as well. xx A**


	28. Chapter 28: Fortune Cookie

**AN: And let's everyone hop in our time machines and jump forward a few months, to June of 2019. Dylan is now approximately eleven months old, just for referencing purposes, though it is mentioned in this chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Brittany nervously toyed with the charm hanging over her collarbones, twisting it left, right, then left again as she watched the suitcases in front of her fill, slowly but surely. She glanced down at her necklace, catching only a glimpse of the two rubies, a single diamond, and a small metal heart resting within the translucent, circular locket she'd received a month ago – a Mother's Day gift she'd yet to take off, composed of her birthstone as well as her wife and daughter's. She felt her cheeks burn as another pencil skirt was thrown into the fray of their bed, soon followed by a pair of heels that left tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The heat coming in through the window was stifling, despite the light breeze fluttering the curtains, and the blonde found herself unable to move from her position, one arm tucked against her, the other's elbow resting on her forearm and allowing her free hand to fidget with her necklace, as she'd been doing for the past half hour. The thirty minutes prior to that had consisted of her twirling her wedding ring around her fourth finger, hoping the momentum would remove some of the weight from the diamond.

"Britt, stop fidgeting," Santana chastised without looking over her shoulder as she carefully folded a sundress and placed it into one of the open suitcases splayed across the bed.

"I'm not fidgeting," was the automatic response as her hands fell to her sides, gripping the seams of her jeans instead of her necklace. She managed to remain in that position for no more than twenty seconds before her fingers automatically sought out her jewelry once more, wrapping around the charm dangling from her neck.

Twisting around, her own fingertips brushing against the infinity bracelet circling her wrist, Santana met her wife's gaze, still marginally watery, and let out a long breath of air. "It's just a week Britt. You act as if I'm leaving you both forever."

"It feels like forever," the blonde grumbled, her grip tightening around the chain of her necklace. "And technically, it's ten days." Brittany dropped her gaze, knowing her comment would flare the brunette's temper once more and that she'd once again chosen heated words against the buzzing silence that currently encompassed their household.

"This is a really big opportunity for me; you said you understood." The circled arguments they'd had for weeks swirled behind her eyelids, the same words repeated over and over again. "You said you wanted me to do this."

"The part of me that knows this is amazing for your career wants you to do this. The insecure, mildly jealous part of me wants you nowhere near a hundred flawless, half-naked models for a week, particularly not across the globe."

Santana let her stance soften, her shoulders falling minimally and her expression easing into one of sympathy. She crossed the room in a few long strides, tucking her hands beneath her wife's jawline and tenderly rubbing her understanding into Brittany's cheek with the pad of her thumb. Leaving a firm kiss on the corner of the blonde's mouth, she allowed her free hand to trail down, slipping underneath the loose tank top hanging off of the dancer's thin frame and pressing her palm fully against the warm skin. "I won't spare them a moment's attention, because I'll be far too busy missing _you_," she whispered. Her fingertips brushed against her wife's cheek, taking the place of the singular digit, and she felt Brittany lean into the pressure slightly. Tilting onto the balls of her feet, she left a lingering kiss on her wife's forehead, dragging her lips down the bridge of the blonde's nose before their lips met, melding a chorus of apologies between the two. "You know I really hate leaving you both, right?" she murmured, resting her temple against the dancer's chest, relishing in the soothing thudding of her heartbeat. "And you know you are the only person I can imagine forever with, right?" she continued, after hearing the quietest affirmation in response to her first question.

"Yeah," Brittany breathed out, wrapping her arms tightly across her wife's shoulders as the pain in her chest eased minimally.

"You and Dylan are my world, and regardless of where I am, I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the life I have here." The last of the tension residing in the blonde's muscles filtered out, and her weight collapsed just that much more against her wife's as she nodded against dark locks. "I'll be back before you can miss me."

"Not true," she grumbled. "I'll miss you as soon as you're on the plane."

Santana giggled lightly, tapping the blonde once on the nose before grinning cheekily and mumbling a simple, "you're cute," as she turned back to her packing, pleased for the moment that she'd managed to qualm her wife's fears.

* * *

"You'll call as soon as you land for your layover?" she asked, running a hand down the back of Dylan's head.

"Yes, Britt."

"And you'll text me before you board your connecting flight?"

"I'll keep my phone on until I have to turn it off."

"You have your camera, right?"

Santana gave a halfhearted chuckle as she nodded, patting the bulky carryon bag she had slung over her right shoulder. In it, though she wouldn't admit the fact to her wife, was a photograph of the three of them from Mother's Day, wedged as a bookmark in her journal, though she feared even that wouldn't be able to distract her thoughts from Brittany or their daughter. Dylan sat perched on the dancer's hip, her expressions far more stoic than usual, only adding fuel to the fire of the blonde's worries. The child's babbling still had not resumed, and her first birthday was just over a month away. The infant was tucked into Brittany's neck, uncomfortable with the bright lights and overstimulation of the airport's noise level, occasionally whimpering when someone passed too closely to the little girl and her mother. "I've got everything babe." She leaned in to press a kiss to her wife's cheek and attempted to catch her daughter's eyes, but the child's gaze was now vehemently set toward the zigzag pattern of the carpet beneath their feet. A voice over the intercom had Dylan burrowing further into the blonde's hair, announcing that Santana's plane was boarding, and both women let out a puff of air, slowly meeting each other's line of vision. "That's my flight," she whispered, readjusting the strap on her shoulder.

"Yeah," Brittany breathed out. "Yeah, it is."

Wrapping her fingers around the charm bracelet dangling from her wrist, the brunette took in a settling breath. "I didn't think this would be so hard," she admitted. "I love you both." She pressed a lingering kiss to her daughter's forehead as best she could with Dylan still wrapped so fully into the blonde before tilting upward and connecting her mouth to her wife's, drinking in the last bit of comfort she could, recommitting the final wafts of citrus and the sensation of Brittany's warmth against her body to memory. She twisted in her place, hesitantly placing one foot in front of the other as she made her way toward the gate, fighting against the clenching in her gut and the burning at the back of her throat as she fought tooth and nail to swallow back the tears she felt building against her eyelashes.

"Mama, no!" Her body flipped around without her consent, eyes immediately focusing on her wife and daughter, one of whom was standing stock still in shock as the other struggled to be released in an effort to get closer to her mother. "No," the little girl pleaded, eyes wide and coated in unshed tears.

"Go," Brittany mouthed through the moisture coating her own cheeks as the intercom sounded again, announcing the last call for boarding.

The brunette crossed through the gates in a haze, the echoing sound of Dylan's voice playing again and again in her head as she sank into her assigned seat, hastily pulling her journal from her bag before shifting it underneath her feet. She gripped the notebook tightly to her chest, the edges digging into the fleshy pads of her palms as she fought the seizing in her chest and the tears that still fought against her defenses.

"Is it your first time leaving them?" a low voice asked from her left. She nodded meekly, without looking up. She felt a strong arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of the body next to her, and despite her misgivings, she fell into the embrace, choking pitifully on the emotions pouring out of her heart. A large hand rubbed soothingly up and down her bicep as her sobs diminished into hiccups, right around the time the flight attendants informed everyone to turn off their phones and settle into an upright position. She sent a quick text to Brittany, confirming that she'd call when she landed, before turning her phone off and tossing it into the bag beneath her seat. When she finally looked up, she met eyes as dark as her own, crinkled at the edges and watching her carefully. "A little calmer now, I see," he chuckled.

"Minimally," she admitted, rubbing at the tear tracks beneath her eyes. She inhaled deeply, readjusting her jacket and fidgeting with her journal before looking up again. "That's the first time my daughter ever called me Mama."

"I can see why you were all worked up then Nena. That's quite the milestone." Santana nodded, laughing quietly under her breath. "Has she said it before at all?"

This time, she shook her head, her eyebrows furrowing to meet in the middle. "She's quite fond of the word 'no,' but other than that, she hasn't said anything else. My wife wants to have her tested." She ran her fingers through the top of her hair, before settling back into her seat. "For autism," she clarified, chancing a glance to the side to observe her fellow passenger. The man hummed his consideration, and she was momentarily taken aback by his similarity in demeanor to her father. "I'm not too sure about it though. She was born premature, so our doctor told us from the beginning that her development might be delayed."

"Do you spend a lot of your time in denial Nena?"

"Just about all of it," she admitted. "I don't even want to think about something being wrong with my child."

"None of us do. We want to believe that our children will grow up to be perfect human beings, regardless of if we can be there to help them become those people." His words hit her square in the chest, and she nodded, sending him a wavering, if watery smile. "But since you're so keen to remain in denial, why don't you tell me all about this little girl who has you so wrapped around her finger until we touch down in New York?"

* * *

Brittany tucked the phone tightly between her shoulder and ear as she shushed the crying infant on her hip, bouncing her gently as she searched in vain for the inconveniently elusive thermometer. At her wit's end, she'd given in to asking for help, despite her inherent felt need to do precisely the opposite, particularly when it came to her child. She'd worked her way through all possible problems, ensuring that Dylan was clean, fed, dry, and well-rested, and had yet to find a solution to her incessant wailing. "Q?" she exclaimed pitifully when the ringing finally ceased.

"Britt, I can barely hear you. What is going on over there?" The blonde on the other end of the line pressed a finger into her ear to stifle any sound from her end, hoping to amplify her friend's voice and block out the background noise.

"Dylan has been crying for nearly three days straight. That's how my day's going. How about yours?" Brittany bit back, trying and failing to conceal the latent traces of sarcasm darkening her words.

"Have you taken her into the doctor, or –"

"We went to the doctor yesterday. There is nothing physically wrong with her, so they see no reason for her to have transformed into a banshee overnight." The dancer sighed, settling Dylan into her play pen and praying the infant would sleep as she walked away, the guilt of leaving her daughter alone while in tears stabbing her violently in the gut. "I'm at my wit's end Q. I don't know what to do with her anymore. She's been inconsolable since Santana left."

"Change in routine," Quinn murmured, more to herself than to her friend on the other line.

"Care to explain Confucius? I occasionally appreciate you speaking like a fortune cookie, but now is not the time."

"Santana mentioned a while back that you thought she might be mildly autistic. Children with autism, even Asperger's have a hard time with changes, particularly in routine. I did my final paper in child psychology during my undergrad on that." Though her hazel eyes brimmed with tears at the corners, her voice remained even, if slightly stoic. She'd fought against the idea that her goddaughter might be anything less than perfect just as vehemently as her friends had, but even she felt they were now fighting a losing battle against the truth. "Is there no way Santana can come home?"

"It's Fashion Week in Spain Q. I'm not asking her to fly home," she muttered with near disgust. Brittany ran her fingers through the top of her hair, sucking in a harsh breath when she heard Dylan's temporarily calmed shrieks making a reappearance.

"So fly to her."

* * *

**AN: Santana's trip to Spain is going to be an important plot pawn in the coming chapters. The next chapter will be a bit more lighthearted, as I know this one wasn't in the slightest. Portions of this physically pained me to write, to be perfectly honest.**

**As Dylan grows and interacts with the world more, more symptoms will begin coming to light, such as the fascination with intricate patterns (previously addressed in her frustration when Brittany cut off the music while she was choreographing, and the fabric in the airport), as well as the dislike in change of routine, and her stunted social interactions. However, I will say now, that I have _no _intention of having Dylan diagnosed with full blown autism, as it would be too far out of left field as well as require a wild amount of research I frankly haven't the time to dedicate myself to in my last year of college. So worry not.**

**If you have any questions or comments, please don't hesitate to contact me through PM or review. I try to get back to you guys if I remember, though I know I'm not always the best with it. As always, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. xx A**


	29. Chapter 29: Hallucinating

**AN: Question for you all at the very end, in my typical author's note. Let me know what you think please. :)  
Reupload: Translations for the Spanish are now at the end of the chapter. My apologies. **

* * *

Stumbling out onto the patio, Santana leaned heavily into a column, furiously searching her clutch for her still elusive cell phone. Clicking the center button to unlock it, swimming brown eyes focused lazily on the photograph set as her background, one of her wife and daughter smiling giddily up at the camera on Mother's Day. She swiped her thumb across the screen several times before it revealed her passcode, and typing in Dylan's birthday, she was rewarded with a final click, revealing her home screen. She tapped against the phone several times to pull up Brittany's name in her contact list, her movements uncoordinated at best and disjointed at worst. Holding the device up to her ear, she was disappointed to find that once again, her wife's chirp filled her ear, rather than the ringing she had hoped for. "Britt?" she whispered meekly into the voice mailbox she'd been filling for the better part of the day. "I'm at a party that I don't wanna be at, with a bunch of people I don't wanna be with, drinking alcohol that tastes funny because you're really far away, and like," she paused as she gulped down a large amount of air, trying to quell the tears threatening her mascara, "everything tastes funny because you're far away. My heart tastes funny." She heard the French doors open up behind her, revealing one of the designers from earlier in the evening, his crisp suit still boasting polished perfection. "And I keep calling, but your phone died or you turned it off, and I'm worried, and I miss you. I really don't want to go back to a hotel room by myself tonight, but every time I say that, some model comes and says she can help me and I don't want her to help. I even used "ser" instead of "estar" when I said I was married, so it would sound more permanent, and you don't even know what that means, but she just thought I didn't know how to speak Spanish, and I miss you." She ran her fingers through the top of her hair and sighed. "So call me back whenever you get this please. I love you."

"Ay bambina," Carlos cooed as he wandered further out onto the patio, a simple tumbler of whiskey loosely contained in his left hand. "¿Pierde a su esposo?"

"Mi esposa," she automatically corrected, her game plan of maintaining a façade of heterosexuality fading away quickly with each drink thrust into her hands, "y mi hija. Están en Chicago, y pierdo mucho. Si."

"You just have a few more days until you'll be back at home with them," he reminded her, transferring flawlessly from Spanish to a still thick-accented English. She ignored his cultural lisp, instead meeting his words with a noncommittal shrug. "Cuantos días?"

"Seis," she murmured, clicking the button on the top of her phone a few times, obsessively checking for even a text message in response to the seventeen she'd sent so far that day – all yet unreturned. "I've never been away from them before though, much less across the globe for over a week."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," he offered, his patronizing tone nearly masked by his use of his native tongue's vowel sounds. She simply raised her eyebrow, meeting his platitudes with a condescending arch before pulling a long sip from the black straw providing her amaretto sour. "But be wary of the models. Wedding bands are an inconveniently placed accessory as far as they're concerned."

"I don't think it's worth the trouble to stick around Carlos. Entonces, le veré mañana, claro?" He nodded, tilting his drink in her direction as she stumbled back toward the French doors, chuckling to herself at the irony of having such things anywhere but France. The alcohol had flooded her body by this point in the night, and the heat of the bodies around her was doing nothing to help her swimming vision as she struggled through the crowds, any sobering qualities she'd acquired in the crisp night air filtering away.

"Santana, venga aquí!" A group of models she had taken behind the scenes photographs of earlier that evening called to her, a pile of long limbs, dark hair, and less than innocent expressions. She shook her head, her features pulled into a convincing representation of regret as she waved and continued past the couch. "Ay, Santana! Tenga alguna diversión!"

"No, gracias," she called, waving them off with a self-deprecating smile. She gestured towards the door, still fighting against the newborn-colt feeling in her legs, focusing solely on putting one foot in front of another and vehemently ignoring their continuing cat calls behind her back. Signaling to one of the awaiting taxis, she gave directions as she slipped into the backseat, her phone lighting up the darkness surrounding her and boasting a screen devoid of phone calls or text messages, amplifying the pain in her chest. Against her better judgment, she typed in her passcode once more, and tapped her wife's name again, waiting for the same voicemail to immediately assault her ears. She was met with, instead, clipped automatic rings that perked up the beat of her heart and eased some of the most ravenous tension seeping through her bones.

"Hello?" The greeting was whispered, but the happiness in Brittany's voice was undeniable. The blonde was pacing slowly, one arm tucked into her body, the other securing her phone against her ear as she watched Dylan dozing comfortably with one of her wife's hoodies.

"Hey," Santana returned. The taxi driver's eyes flicked toward his rearview mirror, taking the soft smile that had overshadowed the woman's previous scowl. "Where have you been hiding away all day? I was getting worried."

"We had a busy day, and I'd forgotten to charge my phone, so it had died." Half-truth. "Quinn was so worried, she nearly sent a search and rescue team through the city to find us," she joked, allowing a less than genuine chuckle to pass over her lips as she marveled at the ease with which she found herself blatantly lying.

"Well, try and remember to charge it next time. I was really worried Britt." She wanted to be angry, but she couldn't find it within herself to do so. Any frustration she'd felt toward her wife melted away as soon as her voice had connected through the line. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," the blonde whispered again, watching as Dylan's face crumpled slightly in her sleep, unwilling to wake the infant. She ran a hand down her daughter's back, seeing an ease wash over her small features once more as the contact soothed her. "Your little girl hasn't been too pleased with this arrangement either."

The taxi driver's eyes widened comically as he gripped the steering wheel with more force, unsure of how to handle the now quietly weeping brunette in his backseat. "I don't know how I'm going to make it through the rest of this week Britt-Britt," she whimpered, her gaze flashing out of the window of the vehicle as they pulled up to the curb of her hotel. She quickly paid the driver, tucking her clutch under arm once she'd unfolded herself from the bench seat of the taxi cab and began making her way through the expansive lobby, wiping furiously at her cheeks.

"It's been hard for us too sweetheart," she empathized, thinking back to the 72 hours of relentless wailing she'd endured with their child once Santana had boarded her plane. The blonde dropped onto the bed, allowing the mattress to absorb her weight as she ran her free hand over the thigh of her jeans, massaging the tense muscles in her thigh.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep any tonight. I haven't been sleeping well at all," Santana admitted as she pressed her thumb viciously into the elevator's button, tapping it a few times even after it lit up. She was managing to survive the daylight hours, but once alone in a cold bed, far too large for just one person, any strength she had wavered, and then crashed rather spectacularly.

A similar clenching filled Brittany's chest on the other end of the line and she nodded to herself. "Well I'll be with you until you fall asleep. How does that sound?" The doors shuttered closed and the blonde heard the distinct dinging of the elevator as it climbed the floors toward her wife's hotel room.

Santana let out a weak laugh, pressing a thumb against one temple and a finger against the other as she covered her eyes. She attempted to shield the returning tears building against her eyelashes from her reflection, which surrounded her from all angles. "It's not quite the same," she whispered, "but you're sweet." The doors slowly opened in front of her, and her heels clicked maliciously against the empty hallway floors as she slowly poured over the paintings lining the walls on her way back to the place she'd called home for the past few days. "I'd much rather fall asleep in your arms." She took the silence on the other line as a verbalized representation of the same dull ache coursing through her chest. The brunette heard a quiet click as the lock unhinged and she removed her room key, pressing down generously on the handle, her movements much more coordinated than before.

"We could arrange that you know," was the quiet response, but the six words echoed in Santana's head, playing twice in between her ears.

The photographer struggled to kick off her heels before responding. "I wouldn't ask you to do that." She pulled bobby pins from her hair, allowing the locks to fall free from the bun that had been previously constraining them, before tossing the pins onto a small side table. Looking down at her phone, she saw she'd lost signal and groaned, sinking into her room's couch with her head in her hands, content to sleep there rather than moving into the bedroom and facing another night of arctic sheets and incorrectly scented pillows.

"You didn't have to ask."

Looking down at her phone, she noted the blank screen, and tapped at it furiously with her forefinger a few times to be sure that the call had in fact disconnected. She sighed, brushing her bangs away from her face, though she froze mid-motion. "Please tell me I'm not drunk enough to be hallucinating," she whispered, her eyes roaming the length of her wife's body. Brittany was leaning up against the doorframe that separated the living room from the bedroom, clad in a simple pair of jeans and one of Santana's t-shirts, a brilliant, if wavering smile playing against her lips. She crossed the room silently, falling into the cushions next to the brunette and pulling the body she ached for as close as she could manage, pressing every inch of their torsos together.

"You aren't hallucinating. I'm right here," Brittany murmured into her wife's now loose hair. "My phone was off because we were on the flight over."

"You brought Dylan?" Santana whispered meekly, the words catching on the sobs of relief wracking her frame.

"I didn't have a choice really." She paused, weighing her next words. "She'd been inconsolable for days. She hadn't stopped crying since you left, and I didn't know what else to do." Pulling away, blue eyes fell downward on protective instinct; focusing on the couple's now intertwined fingers, she adamantly avoided her wife's gaze. Her free hand immediately flew toward her necklace, grasping it tightly within her hand.

"You're a wonderful mom," the brunette stated simply, easing Brittany's grip on the charm resting against her collarbone before resting her palm against the dancer's frantically beating heart. "It may be that we just need to reconsider the idea of taking her in to Dr. Jameson. You can't blame yourself for any of this sweetheart, okay?" Santana focused all of her comfort into the fingertips resting against her wife's sternum, hoping to instill a sense of strength through her hands, if not through her words. "Tonight, right now, I just want to focus on the fact that you're here, and you're in my arms, and I won't have to miss you all over again when I wake up tomorrow morning." The blonde nodded, still not entirely convinced, but conceded to her wife's request as she was pulled to her feet and into the bedroom.

Climbing cautiously onto the mattress after tugging off her dress, Santana sunk into the comforter, scooting her daughter snugly into her chest. One of Dylan's small hands palmed at the brunette's chest in her sleep, but eventually dropped as the infant let out a contented sigh and buried into her mother's neck. Brittany slid beneath the sheets moments after, devoid of her jeans, and immediately pressed herself into her wife's back, craving closeness. She hadn't felt such an insistent need for physical intimacy from Santana in a while, and she allowed the comfort that rose within her from the warmth and proximity of the brunette's body to wash over them both. Drifting off in a strange bed, in a strange room, in a country she'd never even dreamed of visiting, Brittany realized that with the two most important pieces of her heart within fingertips' reach, she'd never felt more at home.

* * *

"¿Pierde a su esposo?" - You miss your husband?

"Mi esposa, y mi hija. Están en Chicago, y pierdo mucho. Si." - My wife, and my daughter. They're in Chicago and I miss them a lot, yes."

"Cuantos días?" - How many days?

"Seis," - Six.

"Entonces, le veré mañana, claro?" - So, I'll see you tomorrow, right?

"Santana, venga aquí!" - Santana, come here!

"Tenga alguna diversión!" - Have some fun!

* * *

**AN: Hello lovelies. I'm sorry this is on the shorter side, but I'm still recovering from the brain drain that was finals week. However, with that said, I'm done with school until about the middle of January, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to provide more frequent and/or longer updates for a good little while. :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and rest assured that I'll begin work on the next chapter almost immediately.**

**Let me know what you're thinking or feeling, and if there are any issues you've seen, or plotlines you'd like me to consider. This is just as much _your _story as it is mine.**

**And on THAT note, there was a review about a reconnection with Quinn and Rachel, right after the Christmas chapter, saying that they hoped the pair would get back together, leaving Andy out of the picture. That can be managed, if a majority of you would want that. So, keep with Quinn/Andy, or would you all like a dose of Faberry?**


	30. Chapter 30: Why Is She My Child?

"Someone's up early." The three words were accompanied by a yawn stifled by the fabric covering the brunette's bicep as she haphazardly twisted her hair into a bun on top of her head. "I would have thought last night was all a dream if Dylan hadn't practically crawled on top of me in her sleep." Brittany flashed back to an hour earlier, when she'd woken up for the third time. Blue eyes had fluttered open to be met with identical sleepy smiles and dark, tousled hair – her daughter curled into Santana's neck and resting comfortably against the woman's chest. Padding across the room as she stretched both arms upward and twisted her neck, earning a few satisfying pops, the photographer plopped directly into her wife's lap, blocking her view of the laptop she'd been using. "Couldn't sleep?" she mumbled as she snuggled into Brittany's torso, sighing with contentment.

"Jet lag and a little too much thinking make dreamland seem further than Spain is from Chicago."

"Which reminds me," Santana breathed, a timid smile playing against her lips as they pressed against the apple of the blonde's cheek, "I never thanked you for coming all this way. You didn't have to." Brittany's chest expanded and a palm hushed the words the brunette felt building within her wife's abdomen. "And I've been thinking."

"Never good," the dancer teased, mirroring the grin delicately tangled into caramel cheeks, tinted with the lightest hints of dusty rose. Searching Santana's face, she took note of a softness and tranquility stilling the normally swirling depths of the mocha she had memorized. Dropping her humorous pretenses, the blonde nodded, encouraging the other woman to continue.

"I know we kind of have our hands full right now, but once things calm down, I think I'd like for us to start trying." Brittany's own eyes, which had settled on the fiercely focused pupils directly in front of her, began remapping her wife's face, searching for hesitation. "And," the brunette breathed in, "I think I'd like to try and carry." Santana immediately noticed the silence building between them, and backpedaled furiously, tripping over her words as she did so. "That's only if you want, and I'm not saying tomorrow. I meant like, months from now. I just wanted to start the conversation about it and –"

She was cut off by warm lips pressing into her own, and Brittany's hands squeezing her hips generously, as if attempting to emblazon the blonde's fingerprints onto her skin, instantly calming the racing within her ribcage. "Okay," she finally whispered before connecting their mouths once more and allowing her fingers to trail upward, slipping beneath the oversized t-shirt hanging on her wife's frame. "We can talk about it when we get home." Santana nodded as her body deflated, the tension diminishing as her arms snaked around her wife's shoulders and her mouth moved to map out every freckle speckling the dancer's cheeks. Her tongue and teeth trailed lower, reaffirming the pathway her lips had memorized years ago, ending in a teasing nip just beneath Brittany's ear. With their chests pressed together, she could feel more so than hear the blonde's breathing pick up, as their hearts collided against one another. "Dylan might wake up," the panting woman managed, finding the words elusive as Santana's tongue traced shapes against her collarbone.

"I can be quick," the brunette replied cheekily, shifting her gaze upward as her hands moved in opposite directions - one smoothly traveling the flat plane of her wife's stomach and the other hooking itself beneath constricting elastic. She waited patiently, her request for permission hanging silently in the stagnant air, before Brittany nodded, smiling softly as their mouths molded together once more. That didn't mask the sharp intake of air the blonde sucked in when Santana's hand dipped further, nor the gasp when the brunette made contact with the buzzing bundle of nerves pulsating between her wife's thighs, and it certainly did nothing to contain the moans that filled the hotel room as the brunette's fingers were surrounded by slick heat. Everything else had faded away, and the only tangible sensations were the warm puffs of air against necks, the teasing bites and frustratingly inadequate licks, and the repeated first syllable of each of their names as they rocked in tandem. Brittany's body seized against her wife's, trembling into the stronghold the woman had on both her body and her heart. Her forehead remained buried into dark locks long after the shocks ran their course, and it took gentle cooing and nails tickling at her scalp to cajole her into meeting Santana's gaze.

"I don't know what I would do without you," the blonde whispered, ignoring the tear tracks running over her cheeks. She had grown up hearing stories of princes and dragons and happily-ever-afters, but the images she'd conjured for herself held less weight than a feather in the midst of a hurricane when compared to the reality she'd been gifted with. She had never allowed herself to honestly dream for more than a white picket fence and a life of contented pleasure, and would have never imagined waking up in a hotel room in Spain next to a woman who would give anything in the world to keep her safe and happier than she'd imagined she was capable of being.

"You'll never have to find out," Santana murmured in response, pressing her lips against her wife's forehead while her thumbs steadily removed the residual moisture marring the freckles against the blonde's cheekbones. "You said forever. I plan on sticking to my end of the deal," she reminded her, referencing her words from their first Christmas together. A cracked sob sounded from the other room, and the brunette's eyes widened, catching the blue of her wife's. She quickly clambered off of Brittany's lap and rushed toward her daughter, scooping the wailing infant into her arms and holding tight, cooing hushed words as she bounced Dylan gently against her hip. "Mija," she whispered, "Mama is right here. You're just fine. You are just fine mi querida."

"Mama?" the little girl whimpered, burying further into Santana's hair as her crying quieted and her breathing slowed from its earlier erraticism.

"Si, mi corazón. I'm here," she reaffirmed, choking back tears as she pressed a firm hand against the infant's back. "Now let's get you changed and we'll go find Mommy. How's that sound?" She lifted Dylan from her hip, settling her back onto the mattress and scanning the room for a diaper bag. She tickled her daughter's stomach, provoking a lighthearted giggle that tugged even harder at her already stretched heartstrings.

When they reentered the living room, Santana was met with a soft smile and open arms on her wife's part. Settling between Brittany's legs, she leaned back into the embrace and propped Dylan up on her bent knees, holding onto her hands and beaming at the little girl who'd taken her heart and wrapped it several times around her tiny pinkie finger. The brunette occasionally leaned forward, blowing raspberries against her daughter's stomach and relishing in the laughter it ensued. An echoing knock brought them from their game, and Brittany slid out from behind her wife, cupping the back of her head when she stood, as if she couldn't bear to lose the physical connection she'd only recently been returned. Pushing the laptop aside, Santana made space on the coffee table for the room service her wife had apparently ordered, shifting Dylan on her lap so they could more easily reach the small banquet in front of them.

"Was that the way she was crying while I was gone?" She avoided eye contact at the loaded question, opting instead to focus on feeding their daughter small bites of the scrambled eggs on the tray in front of them. "I don't think I've ever heard anything more heartbreaking."

"Yeah," Brittany agreed. "It was a rough few days, if I'm being perfectly honest." She popped a piece of honeydew into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, avoiding the continuation of her explanation. "The doctors in the ER told me it was probably teething, but she had never reacted like that before, not even when her teeth first started coming in." As if to emphasis her mother's point, Dylan chose that moment to bite down on Santana's fingers, ignoring the bit of cut up melon between them. In retaliation, the brunette dug into the little girl's sides, tickling her mercilessly until the child released her mouth's death grip, leaving one woman analyzing the marks embedded in the skin of her thumb and forefinger while the other held her stomach and shook with laughter. Once she'd managed to regulate her breathing, Brittany scooped Dylan into her own lap to continue feeding her, careful not to let her hand get too close to her daughter's mouth. "So what is on your agenda today?"

* * *

"¡Ay, dios! Que bonitita!"

"¡Entonces preciosa!"

"¡Ah, es tímida!"

Dylan had, as per habit, ducked beneath the veil of her mother's hair once the conversations around her had become too much. The models were still fawning over her backstage, cooing at her big blue eyes and matching sundress, topped with a tiny cardigan. Brittany tugged on her shoes, a miniscule pair of ballet flats, ensuring that they wouldn't be lost in the chaos she'd been thrust into by Carlos, who insisted she wait back here after his show. She was still mildly shell shocked, having been sat in between Sofia Vergara and Jennifer Lopez's daughter, who very politely complimented the bow in Dylan's curls.

"Hey beautiful." Santana pushed onto the tips of her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of her wife's mouth, staunchly ignoring the incessant babbling of the models behind her, reacting to the affection much as they had to Dylan's presence. "Are you ready to get out of here?" Brittany nodded, a soft smile tugging at her cheeks as the brunette absentmindedly disassembled her camera, tucking each piece into the correct section of her padded bag before slinging it over her shoulder and opening her arms for her daughter to be easily folded into them.

"Ay, Santana!"

She immediately rolled her eyes, huffing when her wife chuckled at her frustration. "I'm almost starting to hate my own name," she grumbled. "Si, Carlos?"

"Vamos a –" He took note of the blonde standing behind her and shook his head, flashing a self-deprecating smile towards both women. "Lo siento. We're going to a small restaurant after we've finished packing up, if you three would like to join us." Brittany shrugged when the brunette sent a questioning glance over her shoulder, silently asking for a decision. "It's a celebratory thing - good food, a little wine, and perhaps some dancing if they have a band tonight." The man wiggled a bit as he spoke, shimmying his shoulders and rolling his hips suggestively, as if it would sway their thought processes.

"Ay, basta Carlos!" the brunette giggled. "My kid doesn't need to see that. Text me the address when you're done here and we may come and meet you for a little while." He nodded once before heading back into the fray, barking at several people in Spanish as he walked. Santana turned, offering her hand to her wife and pulling her through several hallways until they were surrounded by the sun's late afternoon glow. "So, do you want to go tonight?"

Brittany tugged her lip between her teeth, her face transforming into an expression of thoughtful consideration before it clouded over slightly. "Carlos is a little –" she paused, furrowing her eyebrows as she searched her mind for an appropriate adjective, "overbearing."

"And by overbearing," Santana cooed to Dylan, her voice taking on a child-like quality, "your mommy means _flirtatious_." She released the blonde's hand, signaling for a car, pleased when one pulled up only moments later. "Carlos is gayer than a group of glitter covered peacocks singing Celine Dion," she stated in a matter-of-fact manner, tilting her head back over her shoulder to address her wife. "You have _nothing _to work about Britt. I pinkie promise." The dancer chuckled, linking her smallest finger with the one extended toward her, before allowing herself to be pulled into the waiting vehicle, thankful that they would have a few hours to themselves before heading out for the evening.

* * *

"I can't believe you've been hiding her away all this time Santanita," she heard as she slipped back into her seat at the small table, hearing light laughter from the others around her. "Tu esposa es _perfecta_!"

The brunette saw a rose flush begin creeping into Brittany's cheeks as she nodded congenially. "I'm lucky she's put up with me this long," she teased self-deprecatingly, though she was unable to contain the grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. The blonde had easily fit into the group she'd spent the most time with upon arriving in Spain – a ragtag conglomerate not unlike the friends they had in Chicago. Carlos had invited his piece of the week, a broad shouldered model he'd cast for his own show, Rafi, and Sugar Motta herself had made an appearance, though Brittany was still having trouble determining if "she's so cute for having two moms," was a compliment or not. One of the makeup artists who'd shown Santana around when she'd first arrived had brought her husband, and together, the eight had not yet allowed the flow of conversation to pause for much more than a sip of sangria. "Besides, she was only hidden for what, four days?"

"Four days too long," Rafi countered, setting his drink down and folding his hands together before placing his elbows on the table and leaning slightly forward. "So how long have you two been together?"

"Eight years next month," they replied in tandem, flashing shy smiles in the other's direction.

"We've been married a little over two and a half years," Brittany then supplied, reaching over to take her wife's hand and running her thumb across the top of her knuckles. She felt Santana squeeze her fingers gently before disconnecting them in favor of cutting up small bites of pasta to feed Dylan.

"So you're pretty secure in your relationship then?" Carlos queried, and despite their confusion induced furrowed brows, both women nodded. "So I can steal away your better half for a dance Tanita?" Lifting her daughter from the blonde's lap, the photographer grinned, gesturing toward the open dance floor which boasted only a few couples. She watched with pride as Brittany moved easily across the floor with the designer, her head tilted back in laughter and her smile more brilliant than she remembered. Twisting her mouth in thought, she hurriedly cut up a few more pieces of pasta and just as many small cubes of chicken before slipping Dylan into the high chair the restaurant had provided that had yet been used, adjusting it so the child would have a view of the dance floor.

Running her hand down the little girl's cheek, she crossed the floor, tapping Carlos on the shoulder twice before cutting in, taking heed to move Brittany closer to their table as they spun in circles. "You look stunning tonight," she offered, watching as a light flush covered her wife's cheeks and she angled her chin toward her chest bashfully.

"Who did you leave Dylan with?" the blonde suddenly asked, her head twisting around wildly.

"She's very happily settled in a high chair, watching us just like everyone else in this restaurant is." Brittany then caught sight of their daughter, who was staring at them, transfixed, as she wiggled in her chair to the beat the drummer provided. Rafi and Carlos were just chairs away, one with his head nestled into the other's shoulder, but both watching the women as they moved across the floor. They took note of several other patrons observing their motions with soft smiles, clearly undisturbed by the fact that they were both women. "I'm really glad you came," Santana said softly, pressing their bodies more closely together. "I'm glad I can share this with you."

"Me too babe," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of the brunette's head. "Me too."

* * *

"How long does jet lag last?" Brittany groaned from where she was flopped face down on their bed, her voice muffled.

Tilting her head back, Santana swallowed a small square pill, washing it down quickly with water and making a mental note to ask Dr. Goodwin about reducing her dosage. "Forever," she teased before lifting a t-shirt to her nose, sniffing it once and tossing it into the laundry hamper with a grimace. "Or, you know, a couple of days." She continued sifting through the suitcases splayed across their bedroom, making piles of "absolutely must be washed," "return to closet," and "decision yet to be determined." Dylan toddled in from the living room, still clutching her elf from Christmas. She lifted her arms, asking to be picked up, and was unceremoniously plopped onto the mattress, receiving a swift tap on the nose. Santana dropped a t-shirt onto her head, laughing when she pulled it back and found her daughter's face contorted in disgust much as hers had been moments earlier. "Does this need to be washed mija?" she chuckled.

"Si," the little girl replied before crawling across the bed and climbing on top of the seemingly lifeless blonde still sprawled there.

"Que dijistes?" The little girl repeated the word several times as she poked and prodded at Brittany, trying to cajole her into motion.

"Mama," she whined, flopping face down on the blonde's back.

"Britt, your child would like your attention," Santana teased, winding around the foot of the bed to begin her own attempts at rousing her wife. She tickled at her sides, intent on continuing until she received a response, which ended up being a firm slap to her bicep once the dancer had rolled over, resettling Dylan against her stomach.

"Why is she my child right now? Can't she be your child, and I can be the one taking a nap?" she grumbled, leaning up to kiss her daughter's forehead before readjusting herself to a sitting position, leaning up against the headboard.

"She's _your _child because she asked for _you_. Isn't that right mija?"

"Si," Dylan replied, before insistently palming at Brittany's cheek. "Mama," she repeated, mirroring her mother's smile when the blonde's cheeks pulled tight, a wide grin carving into them. Brittany wrapped her child in her arms, silently sending up thanks; she'd been steadily losing hope that the little girl would recognize her as her other mother, and it pained her far more than she'd ever admit that Santana was the first to receive the moniker of caregiver in Dylan's eyes. Wiping at the tears staining her cheeks, she caught her wife's gaze, soft and washing them both in adoration, and mouthed a declaration of love.

"I love you too Britt-Britt," she silently returned as she folded them both into her arms, holding tight and wishing she never had to let go.

* * *

Que dijistes? – What did you say?

**AN: A little bit longer, and quite a bit faster as far as updates have gone. I wanted to say thank you for the extremely overwhelming response to the last chapter. I appreciate every comment, critique, and opinion more than you all know, so thank you again. As for the autism story line, you all need to trust me just the tiniest bit, haha. I am not RIB, and I have no intention of causing unnecessary angst to make you all miserable with convoluted plotlines that don't make a damn bit of sense. I have a pretty firmly laid plan, and when it all comes down to it, I think you'll all like where we end up. So just trust me please. :)**

**As always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. I figured a bit of fluff would be nice after the clusterfuck that was last night's episode. (I'll be honest in saying I didn't watch, but I read enough about it on Tumblr. Haha). Additionally, I'm working on a Gleecrack video, so once that's done, the link to that video will be in a future chapter. :)**


	31. Chapter 31: Punish Her

**AN: I've got a teeny question for you guys in the closing author's note, and some not so teeny news. :) **

* * *

"I'm sorry I'm late!" The woman pressed a quick kiss to the top of her daughter's head and her wife's cheek in turn before slumping into the chair next to them and adjusting the aviators holding her bangs back. "Therapy ran a little late, and I basically Grand Theft Autoed my way here to try and be on time. What did I miss?"

"Not a thing yet, Santana," Dr. Jameson chuckled. "I came in a few moments before you did, though I must admit my entrance was just the tiniest bit more graceful."

"What'd Goodwin say?" Brittany whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes flickering across the brunette's face.

"Daily dosage cut in half, anti-anxiety only when I feel I need it, and another appointment in two weeks to talk about my parents a bit more. We're getting a little too Freudian for my taste, but it seems to be working, so I'll take it." She flashed her wife a reassuring smile, bouncing their shoulders together before looking up to meet their doctor's eyes, twinkling in amusement. Parenthood seemed to suit the pair, and the tension that drained from Brittany's body upon the arrival of her partner didn't go unnoticed. Santana's arm wrapped around her wife's waist, squeezing once gently, and the remaining anxiety seemed to slip away, leaving her shoulders looser and her legs steadied from the incessant bouncing they'd fallen victim to.

"Are we good to go now?" Both women nodded, their smiles faltering when they absorbed the more serious expression crossing the doctor's face. "Melissa briefed me on your concerns when you called in, and I hate to say this, but there is really no way for us to know if those concerns are founded in truth. All of the symptoms that you've reported could be simply a part of her development, or they could be something more than that. We wouldn't be able to come up with a concrete diagnosis until she's closer to two years old, as much as it pains me to tell you."

"Well is there anything we can do, in the event that we're assuming correctly?" Santana asked, running her hand up and down her wife's back repeatedly as she spoke.

"Of course. I'll tell you now that from what I've seen of her, severe autism shouldn't be a worry of yours. If anything, she would be considered highly functional, with perhaps a mild case of Asperger's." The sole word, one the brunette was sure would be taboo in their home in months to come, caused Brittany to jolt beneath her hand. "It would just be a matter of encouraging her interests, as children with Asperger's tend to latch on to certain topics with vehemence, and then working on developing her social skills when the time comes."

"Excuse me," Brittany whispered, grabbing hold of her purse and quickly walking out of the exam room with Dylan tucked protectively to her chest, as if that action alone could spare their daughter from the doctor's words. "I'll see you at home."

Both Santana and Dr. Jameson stared at the door far after it had fallen shut, letting out a simultaneously held breath. "I'm sorry," she murmured, and the man immediately shook his head, sinking into the chair next to her. "I think she's blaming all of this on herself." He waited patiently for the gears in the brunette's head to stop turning, relieved that at this point, at least one of the women in the family was trying to hold things together. "You said encourage her interests and work on her social skills. We talked about it before we had kids, and day care isn't an option for us. Having another baby was briefly discussed a few weeks ago, but is there another way we could try and get her to start interacting more with other people in the meantime?"

* * *

_Britt, I just left the studio. I've got a couple errands to run with Q. Are you and little one okay? Xx S_

"Thanks for coming with me. I want it to be a surprise for her birthday this weekend." Santana shifted out of park as her best friend clicked her seat belt and automatically changed the radio station, as she always did upon slipping into the passenger seat of the Jeep.

_We're fine. Can you pick up the plates and streamers? Thx._

Sending a quick text in response, the brunette sighed before locking her phone and tossing it into one of the cup holders in the console. The atmosphere within their loft had been tense following the doctor's appointment, and if she were being honest, running menial errands for her daughter's first birthday party was far better than sitting in a cold silence for the remainder of her afternoon. Brittany had been closed off, refusing even the smallest touches and denying any problems between them. As a result, Santana had left early each morning to go into the studio, and was doing her best to keep herself busy and away from the apartment, going so far as to attend open mic nights, while the blonde sat in the corner of the couch, pouring over numerous websites and articles in reference to autism, despite her rejection of the topic verbally.

Lifting the straw of her iced mocha to her lips, Quinn sipped for a few moments before breaking the silence of the vehicle. "Do you want to talk about it?" Fingers tapping nervously against the wheel and jaw clenched tightly, her friend was the picture of frustration, and Santana finally nodded.

"We went to Dr. Jameson day before yesterday, and he said we wouldn't be able to diagnose anything for at least another year."

"Which obviously means, in Britt-speak, that Dylan is autistic, and is never going to live a full life I'm guessing?" Despite herself, the brunette chuckled quietly, nodding again. "And I may be going out on a limb here, but I'm assuming that she thinks this is all somehow her fault."

"Yeah, I think so too, Q. She left before Dr. Jameson could even really talk to us about what to do, and has been doing a remarkable impersonation of an iceberg since." Lifting her own coffee tumbler to her lips, Santana took a generous sip before continuing. "I haven't gotten the freeze out in ages, and I didn't even do anything this time. I almost feel like I should be sleeping on the couch." Settling her cup into the free holder of the console, the photographer flicked her blinker on, waiting rather impatiently to be able to cut through the oncoming traffic. "He even said that, if anything, she'd be considered high functioning. We just really need to encourage any interests she develops, like music, and try and get her to be a little more social."

"So we're buying a puppy?"

"So we're buying a puppy," she confirmed before cutting through two lanes of traffic and pulling into the parking lot of the animal shelter. "I talked to Dr. J about it, and he said it could be a good idea, to help her with responsibility as she gets older, and to help her learn to relate to others. Plus we all remember Britt's iguana phase."

"I thought it was a parakeet?" Quinn queried as they shut their doors behind them and headed toward the entrance, pulling the glass doors open and relishing in the burst of cool air from inside the shelter. A teenaged girl stood behind a short counter, smiling brightly, which only brought more attention to the several facial piercings her porcelain skin boasted.

"Good afternoon," she chirped. "What can I help you guys with?"

"I'd like to adopt a puppy." The girl's grin only widened and she ushered them past the counter and toward the kennels, where all three were met with a cacophony of excited barks. Hazel and chocolate eyes scanned the animals, and despite remembering the dreams of high school that involved a chocolate lab, Santana pulled herself away from the rambunctious canine and took to the direction of her best friend, who was cooing over several tiny balls of fluff.

"Someone found them in a ditch on the side of the road last week," the girl explained, tickling beneath the chin of one of the animals. "We don't normally have puppies, but you're in luck today. What is your home life like, if you don't mind my asking? I can't in good conscience allow you to adopt without being sure that it will be a good fit for our dogs."

"It's just me, my wife, and our one year old daughter. We live in a pretty good sized apartment now, but we've talked about moving into a house within the next few years." The girl nodded, making a few notes on a clipboard that had gone unnoticed in the women's excitement.

"Well, poodles normally do well with kids, especially if they've been exposed to them from a young age. The smaller breeds can be a bit temperamental, but this litter is toy-sized, not teacup, so you shouldn't have any issues. They're extremely intelligent, and normally pretty protective." Santana's eyes caught Quinn's and they shared a nod and a smile of confirmation. "I'd normally ask that your family come in to meet the puppies as well, but your friend says it's for a birthday gift, so if you're sure, you'd be able to pick one up Saturday morning, before your daughter's party."

"Could you maybe let them out, so I could get a feel for which one I'd like to take home?" The girl returned their enthusiastic grins, and unlocked the kennel, chuckling as two of the puppies jumped on top of one another in a race to freedom. Four of them ran toward Quinn, immediately crawling over her bare legs, jumping on top of one another in an effort to garner her attention. One last puppy sat in the kennel, her head cocked as she watched Santana intently. Pursing her lips together, the brunette made a few kissing noises and waved the dog toward her, whereupon the tiny ball of fur ran forward, her ears flapping on each side of her head. She skidded to a stop at the woman's crossed legs before hesitantly easing her way into Santana's lap, licking the caramel hand twice as it scratched behind her ears. Cuddling the small dog to her chest, she looked at Quinn, who nodded, watching as the puppy yawned, then nuzzled into the crook of her elbow. "I'd like to take this little one home," she cooed to the teenaged girl, who nodded, making another note on her clipboard before heading toward the front of the shelter and returning with a tiny pink collar and attaching it to the squirming animal.

"It's a sign for any of the other workers that she's already spoken for. Let's go ahead and get your paperwork finished so you can take her home this weekend."

* * *

"Did you pick up the party supplies like I asked?" Allowing the door to shut behind her quietly, Santana called out an affirmation as she tossed her purse onto the counter in the kitchen and opened the refrigerator for a bottle of water. Reaching into the freezer for a pack of ground meat to defrost, she heard her wife rustling in the bags behind her. "You got the wrong plates. We agreed on the pink ones, not the green."

"I'll go back tomorrow and exchange them," the brunette quickly acquiesced, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Brittany brushed off, her tone unyielding.

"I really don't mind. I can – "

"Santana, I said it's fine." A cloud flashed across blue eyes, ones that boasted animosity and purported little patience. She pushed past her wife, who stood frozen, still unused to her entire name falling from the dancer's lips, returning to her perch in the corner of the couch where she lifted the remote control and mindlessly began flipping through television stations. The blonde could feel her tears building in her chest, and the clenching in her stomach did nothing to quell them, but she tried her hardest to blink them back, refusing to give in to the raging storm ravaging her body. Santana remained in the kitchen, her head in her hands, which were shaking slightly. She refused to believe that this is what their marriage had come to – clandestine emotions, spiteful verbal attacks, and a near constant air of unease. It felt strange to be on the receiving end of a shutout, because in all their years together, more often than not, the brunette was the one who'd closed herself off, refusing to acknowledge the elephants in the room, even if those elephants were doing back-handsprings in order to garner her attention. Catching sight of the infinity charm hanging from her wrist as her eyes flickered to her wedding ring, a resounding sigh shook her lungs and she dutifully headed in the direction of the conversational blizzard she was sure to encounter.

"Britt?" she called out softly, circling the couch before sinking into the cushions and remove the pillow barrier the blonde had formed around herself. "Britt, baby, come here." She extended her open arms, hoping the small gesture would crack the ice between them, but was sorely disappointed to find that wasn't the case. The dancer reclaimed her pillow, situating it between them and staunchly connecting her eyes to the TV screen. Santana sat, observing her wife for several minutes before letting out a frustrated huff of air and rising to her feet. By the time the blonde had turned to look for her, the door had slammed shut and there was no trace of the other woman. Letting out a sigh of her own, her eyes flitted to where her daughter stood at the edge of the couch, lifting the little girl into her arms and changing the channel to a rerun of The Backyardigans before sending a text to Quinn.

_I need to get out of the house tonight. Are you doing anything?_

* * *

"You must be desperate if sitting here while I read over case files is your best offer for the night," the petite blonde joking, clicking and unclicking the top of her pen repeatedly as her eyes scanned the pages in front of her, familiarizing herself with the lawsuits her superiors were currently handling. She'd recently taken a paid internship with one of the firms in town, one who worked primarily with custody and child abuse cases.

"I've actually never been here before. It's a nice change in scenery from the café we usually go to. When did you find it?" The small talk was excruciating, both mentally and physically, but Brittany had promised herself she'd maintain appearances. With even the slightest hint of smoke in her marriage, it seemed everyone in her group of friends had heard about it, and with Dylan's birthday party that weekend, she was determined to uphold a semblance of normality within her family.

"Ages ago," Quinn chuckled. "It stays open later than our usual place, and they have a stage for performances, so even though the coffee isn't as good, it was as good a place as any to study at." Brittany nodded absentmindedly, blowing slightly on a spoonful of tomato bisque before bringing it to her lips. Dylan watched her carefully, wholly unimpressed by the Cheerios splayed out before her, and chuckling, the blonde offered a small spoonful to the child, laughing again as her daughter's face contorted into a grimace and she sought out the dry cereal to combat the taste. Her thoughts flit to the first time Santana had tried the same soup, and the identical expression she'd offered, the memory tugging at her heartstrings. Digging within the diaper bag, she retrieved a small sippy cup of apple juice, placing in front of Dylan as an announcer took the stage.

"It's now seven on the dot, so open mic night has officially begun!" the man called from the back of the coffee shop. "We've got a pretty solid lineup for you all tonight – quite a few regulars, as well as some new faces some of you may not have seen just yet. First up, we've got Mr. Justin Matthews!" A thin man in his early twenties took the microphone from the announcer, settling it into the mic stand before the consistent strumming of his guitar and a low, gravelly voice filled the small space. Brittany could see why her friend had come to this place so often – the music offered a dull background noise that made it much easier to focus on your own thoughts, though that was the last thing the dancer wanted her attention on in that moment. Setting her spoon down, she inched her bowl away from its place in front of her, leaning onto one elbow to watch her daughter fight with the Cheerios she seemed incapable of maintaining a solid grip on.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Quinn asked from beneath her eyelashes, tilting her gaze up slightly to catch her friend's quickly shaken head. "Okay, well if you do –"

"Hey," a breathy voice took over the microphone, catching their attention simultaneously. Brittany sent silent thanks upward that they were in the furthest corner from the stage, well hidden within the relative darkness of the café. "I'm new here, so try and be gentle," she smiled, earning a few chuckles from those closer to stage before she nodded to the DJ to begin her background track. Swaying gently, both hands gripped the microphone stand as she opened her mouth, inhaling a steady sense of confidence and exhaling the pain rippling through her. "Far, away from it all - you and me with no one else around." Brittany found her eyes transfixed on her wife, only deviating to lift Dylan from her seat, allowing her a view of the woman baring her heart on the stage as well. "A brand new start is all we need; it's all we need to mend these hearts - back to the beginning."

"Did you know she sang here Q?" The other blonde shook her head, abandoning the cases in front of her in favor of watching the spectacle across the café.

"Before we lost hope, when we still touched and love wasn't so hard," she sang, her vibrato wavering a bit more than usual as she fought the tears pricking at her eyelids. "You don't have to be brave," she continued, her words fluttering from her place in the spotlight into the crevices of Brittany's heart, "every time we fall down. But we're falling from grace; I'll gladly climb your walls if you'll meet me halfway." She repeated the verse a second time before closing out the song with two simple lines. "Here's my hand and my heart. It's yours to take." The music faded away, and she tucked a bent pointer finger beneath her eye before murmuring her gratitude to the occupants of the café, all in awe of the genuine tone of her voice and the sheer emotion dripping from her words.

"Can you watch her?"

"Of course." Quinn reached over, taking hold of her godchild and settling the little girl into her own lap, bouncing her gently as the next act took the stage. She watched as Brittany followed the path the brunette had taken, towards the bathrooms, directing her words at the infant in her lap. "You three are gonna be just fine little one. I think your Mommy finally pulled her head out of her A-S-S."

* * *

"I'm sorry," she whispered meekly, her forehead making contact with the door of the locked bathroom stall. "I'm sorry I pushed you away. I'm sorry I freaked out over what might be nothing. I'm sorry I wouldn't let you be there for me. And –" she paused, taking in a deep breath and wiping at the tearstains on her cheeks. "And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. Please let me in." The four words held such strong double meaning, the brunette's arm moved without her permission, unlocking the door and allowing Brittany to stumble in, pulling her wife from the floor and into her arms. "I'm sorry," she murmured again, brushing her thumbs beneath Santana's eyes repeatedly as she cooed the two words into the acoustics of the small café's restroom, praying they could sort things out before Saturday.

* * *

"If she's late for her own daughter's first birthday party, I will –"

"Punish her in the bedroom?" Puck offered over the rim of his glass of lemonade.

"That seems likely," Holly agreed. "I mean, like Mother, like – "

"Mom, could you not?"

"She'll be here Britt. I promise. She had to go and pick up a last minute present."

Jordan watched as the conversation volleyed between the four adults in front of her, secretly thankful that she'd be staying at Northwestern, and thus able to stay privy to these conversations. "I doubt LP is going to miss Dylan's first birthday, other LP."

"Brittany, sweetheart, why can you come and grab the cake while we finish cleaning up lunch?" April called from the kitchen, receiving a wan smile from both Melissa and Mollie. "It's always like this. Their conversations are inappropriately themed tennis matches ninety percent of the time."

"Mama, what did Mr. Puck mean? Is Tana going to be grounded?"

Melissa brushed her daughter's bangs back, fighting against the laughter bubbling in her chest. "Yes, Tana is absolutely going to be grounded. Now don't listen to anything else Mr. Puck says, okay? Why don't you and Tommy go and watch TV until she gets here." Her phone buzzed against the counter, boasting a text message from the woman in question, asking for them to occupy the blonde so she could sneak into the apartment.

Entering the kitchen and tossing the last of the pink plates into the garbage, Brittany leaned against the counter, rubbing her temples. "I swear Mama. If Santana doesn't – "

"If I don't what, beautiful?" the brunette teased as she wrapped her arms around her wife from behind. "And what precisely are you going to do to me? Punish me in the bedroom?"

"You'd swear they were legitimately related," April groaned, taking hold of the cake and moving into the living room with Melissa and Mollie following her lead.

"I'm sorry," she cooed. "I didn't think it would take that long, but traffic was god awful."

"What did you even have to go and get?"

"You'll see," the brunette teased, dragging her words out.

"Santana Marie Lopez-Pierce!" Tilting up on the balls of her feet, she pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Brittany's mouth, ran her fingers just below the hem of the dancer's tank top and murmured out an _I love you_, before twisting on her toes to join everyone in the living room. She extended her hand behind her, wiggling her fingers enticingly and grinning when she felt her wife's hand thread into her own. Once in the living room, they each settled onto the floor, flanking Dylan's sides and helping her unwrap the innumerous gifts splayed out before the newly turned one year old. Kurt had sent along several outfits from Paris, where he was currently residing, and Rachel, in turn, had shipped a miniature crystal incrusted microphone, despite the fact that the little girl would be unable to hold it on her own for several years. Tucked underneath, however, was a picture book entitled **"**Oh The Things Mommies Do!: What Could Be Better Than Having Two?" causing Brittany to groan and her partner to chuckle at the look of sheer horror on the blonde's face. They made their way through a Dora backpack, a Lego set nearly identical to Rory's from Christmas, and a small quilt Holly and April had created, composed entirely of the girls' old t-shirts from high school. In addition to a ballerina Build-A-Bear from Zoe and Jordan, the moms received a coupon book for free babysitting, which seemed to be Santana's favorite gift out of the growing pile.

Tossing the last of the wrapping paper into the trashcan, Brittany set about cutting the cake, distributing it amongst their guests and smacking Puck's forehead when he complained about the size of his piece. Scanning the room, blue eyes took note of one missing occupant and strode toward their bedroom in search of the missing brunette. She found her on her hands and knees in their closet, and chuckling, she tapped her wife on the butt with her foot, effectively garnering her attention. "I thought you came out ages ago." A small whimper was the only response she received, aside from a glower provided by her wife, and Brittany's eyebrows furrowed slightly before she peered further into the closet, her gaze landing on the tiny tan puppy staring up at her with equally wide eyes.

"Please don't be mad," Santana whispered quickly. "I'll explain it all later, I promise."

"I'm not mad," the dancer chuckled, "not at all. But we _will _discuss this tonight." Leaning over the brunette, she lifted the dog into her arms and her grin widened when she received several quick licks to her chin. "She's cute," Brittany determined. "You're cute too," she then expanded, helping her wife to her feet and pulling her in for a drawn out kiss. She squatted down, leaving the puppy at their feet, and gestured for the small ball of fluff to follow them back into the fray.

"Ándale pequeña," Santana coaxed, pleased when the puppy took in its surroundings and headed straight for Dylan, her ears flapping as she bounded toward the little girl. The adults in the room all waited with baited breath as the dog approached the infant, sniffing at her toes before cautiously moving just the tiniest bit forward each moment. Their daughter watched her present intently, her head cocked to the side and fashioned into an inquisitive expression until the puppy licked her cheek once. She screwed up her face before it softened again and she giggled, patting the dog a few times and beaming up at her mothers.

"You did good LP," Jordan teased.

"Yeah babe," Brittany agreed. "You did real good."

* * *

**AN: I got engaged over the weekend, and that's all I'm offering in terms of an apology for nearly another week without an update. Haha. :) With that said, any suggestions for the name of our newest addition to the Lopez-Pierce family?**


	32. Chapter 32: Quit Trying

"Hello Mrs. Withers. This is Brittany Lopez-Pierce. We met a few years back, in Ohio my senior year, and then I believe you set me up with an internship for a short-running production of the Nutcracker done in Chicago during my last year of college." She adjusted a few pillows on one end of the couch before spotting her daughter curled up at the other end, holding tightly to a bundle of fur. "I was calling to inquire as to whether you knew of any productions or studios that needed part-time assistance, so I look forward to hearing back from you. Thanks."

"You're cute when you sound all professional and adult," Santana teased from the bedroom, slipping into a pair of ballet flats and fluffing her hair once more in the mirror. "Did you find the picnic basket?" Upon receiving no response, the brunette stuck her head into the living room and found her wife perched on the end of the coffee table, snapping photo after photo of the sight before her. "Britt baby, I think fifty seven pictures is enough."

"But they're so adorable together," she automatically protested.

Santana rested her forearms on the back of the couch, leaning over to observe as well. "One of them isn't going to be so adorable if you don't wake her up from that nap soon."

"And whose fault is that?" Brittany grinned, arching an eyebrow as she tucked her phone into her back pocket.

"I choose to blame you. If your I-can-function-with-no-sleep DNA had overpowered my mornings-should-be-illegal genes, we wouldn't have this issue," she refuted, running her fingers through the top of Dylan's hair as she made an attempt to rouse her. "Mija, no puedes dormir ya. It's time to get up, so we can meet Rory at the park." Long eyelashes fluttered open, and despite her drowsiness, the little girl pulled her features into a convincing replication of her mother's early morning scowl before burying her face into her puppy's fur. "Rock, paper, scissors for grumpy daughter duty?"

"Game on," Brittany grinned, holding one hand palm up and curling the other into a fist. "Two out of three." After four ties, and a victory each, both women took a battle stance, glaring at one another in jest before shaking their fists two additional times, leaving one's rock covered by the other's paper. "I'll pack the picnic basket," the blonde chirped, pressing a quick kiss to Santana's cheek before heading toward the kitchen, a smirk firmly attached to her face.

"Your mama is lucky that she's cute, and that you're cute, and that this fuzz ball is cute too," the photographer grumbled, lifting Dylan from the couch and carrying her towards her nursery.

"You can't keep calling her fuzz ball!" She heard from the kitchen, and chuckled as she rolled her eyes, quickly patting her daughter's backside to ensure that she'd merely need to change her clothing and not her diaper as well. Slipping the child into a green sundress, she pulled bloomers on underneath it before strapping on a pair of sandals and placing Dylan on the floor. The little girl immediately took off towards the kitchen, her hair still a mess of untamed curls, squeaking with every step she took. "Oh god honey, you look like Alfalfa!" Wetting her fingers in the sink, she dutifully attempted to tame the mess atop her child's head to no avail. "You were going to let her go in public like that?"

"I don't consider the park with Quinn, Andy, and Rory to be 'public,' per se," Santana defended, meandering around her wife to finish packing their lunches before flipping the basket top shut with finality as the blonde continued to fuss with Dylan's outfit. "She's a year old Britt. No one expects her to look like she walked out of a Baby Gap ad. If she's anything like you were when you were younger, she'll be dirty before we even get her into a swing. Now, are we ready? Has our child been properly primped in order to be deemed physically acceptable by society?"

Taking in the teasing lilt of her wife's words, Brittany stuck her tongue out in the brunette's direction before nodding and lifting Dylan into her arms. Normally, the three would slowly but surely struggle down the five flights of stairs, but with the extended nap time, neither was keen on keeping an impatient Rory waiting for any longer than necessary. The little girl was more than capable of walking, and nine times out of ten could take off running without falling flat on her face, but stairs were still a struggle, one that typically ended with Dylan scooting her butt down all five floors. It was cute the first, second, and thirteenth time, but when both mothers were keen to be punctual, despite her incessant protests, the little girl was unceremoniously plopped on a hip and carted downward in less than half the time it would normally take.

In the car, with the music only punctuated by Dylan's feet occasionally knocking against the edge of her car seat, there was a stillness that soothed Santana, one of peace and serenity and waves of contentment. Weeks had flown by, fraught with retrieving the ease with which the family operated before the fated doctor's appointment. Despite the progress made on the little girl's birthday, returning to normalcy had been a conscious effort on both women's parts, and it shocked Brittany how easy it had been to fall into a pattern of not speaking to her wife. She knew of plenty marriages that had failed, and had no real examples to build her own off of, so she had improvised. It was a period of time in which her pride had to take backseat to the larger picture, a time when she had to stay present in her actions and sort out ways to convey her love and appreciation for the caramel skinned woman now driving just to her right. Taking those thoughts and folding them, twisting them in her mind's eye, she reached across the console and intertwined their fingers, hoping the gesture would imprint a fragment of her necessity for Santana to meet her metaphorical efforts tangibly, physically. Chocolate eyes flickered to the side, accompanied by a soft smile and an even gentler squeeze against her palm; they moved upward, taking in the infant behind them, shimmying to the music flooding the car, her hands tightly clasped around the sleeping ball of fur in her lap, and leaving that smile permanently etched into Santana's cheeks.

Having not incorporated the puppy into their _get-out-of-the-car-as-quickly-as-possible-routine_, Dylan's previous grumpiness returned with a vengeance, a pout clouding her features until they began their trek into the center of the park, and she caught sight of the three people they were meeting. She squirmed in Brittany's arms until she was placed on the ground and sent off with a pat on the butt, running as fast as her tiny legs could manage until she fell into Quinn's arms, leaving a slobbery kiss on her godmother's cheek.

"Hey, my beautiful girl," she cooed, pressing her own, much drier, kiss against Dylan's skin. "Rory is in the sandbox if you want to go and meet her."

"C'mon, I'll take you," Andy offered, standing up and brushing off the back of his jeans before extending his hand. The little girl eyed it warily before shaking her head and lifting her arm to catch hold of Santana's pinky. Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, the brunette accompanied her daughter just a few feet away, affectionately placing a kiss on the top of her curls before encouraging her to cross the box and help Rory in her attempts to make a sandcastle.

"I wouldn't take it personally," she heard as she made her way back to the checkered blanket splayed across the ground. She caught Brittany's gaze, shrugging before settling onto the grass beside her wife and leaning into her warmth, hoping the contact would sooth them both. Santana felt the blonde shift slightly, pressing more of their bodies together and placed a hesitant hand on the pale, bare knee in front of her before twisting to capture the lips just inches from her own in a chaste kiss. She could feel the hums of Brittany's body easing to a slow murmur as their mouths touched, and as she pulled away, the brunette sent reassurances through her eyes, praying the message was crossing the humid air of the park and making it toward her worry-prone wife.

"She gets the anti-social thing from me," Santana joked as she turned back to their friends, making a half-hearted attempt to ease the subject away from dangerous territory. Quinn's hand still rested protectively on her fiancé's shoulder, but his body language had eased somewhat, and he cracked a grin, waving off Dylan's behavior as if it were no more than a wisp of smoke. "So what's new in the land of painting and custody battles?"

"Andy has a gallery opening next weekend. You all should come," Quinn answered for both of them, beaming wildly at the bashful smile Andy sported.

"It's not a big deal," he shrugged. "Really, if you guys have a better offer or something –"

Brittany looked toward her wife before replying, silently inquiring as to whether the brunette was interested in attending. She mimicked Andy's shrug before nodding slightly, granting the dancer permission to accept on their behalf. "We don't have anything," she chirped, thankful that despite the avalanche of negativity she'd fallen prey to, her ability to intuit Santana's decisions silently was still ingrained within her. "We can see about getting Jordan to watch Dylan."

The conversation flowed easily from there, having removed the awkward tension Dylan's denial originally provided as both women dug into peanut butter sandwiches and Quinn chewed thoughtfully on carrots and ranch. Santana received several chastising remarks, one for each time she made an attempt to sneak the puppy curled up at her feet a piece of her crusts. The excuse, "but he looks so pitiful," didn't remove the blame her wife adamantly placed on her, after reminding her of how sensitive the puppy's digestive track was; the brunette eventually stopped, once Brittany informed her that any "accidents" as a result of her feeding the dog would be her responsibility, and from there on out, Santana's crusts traveled only into her own mouth.

"Have you two decided you want to start trying again?" Quinn asked, snapping a baby carrot in half and awaiting their response with an arched eyebrow and baited breath. Exchanging a quick glance, they both shrugged, hoping the conversational topic would be dropped. Conceiving hadn't been mentioned since the doctor's appointment, and it certainly didn't seem a tangible option in that moment. Despite herself, Santana was thankful when the park excursion ended nearly as quickly as it had been planned, when Rory slipped on the edge of the sandbox and cut open her knee. Though it was simply a small scape, Andy's daughter easily brought forth enough tears to fill the pail clutched in her left hand, and those tears did not quell themselves until she was promised ice cream on the ride home and a Disney princess movie night. As they strapped their own child back into her car seat, Brittany tilted her head thoughtfully and flashed a cheeky grin in her wife's direction.

"What?" Santana chuckled, wiping at the corners of her mouth. "Is there something on my face?"

The blonde shook her head, caught up in her own giggles, before pointing over her shoulder as Andy fastened Rory into her own car seat, kissing first her forehead and then her knee, covered in three too many Dora the Explorer Band-Aids. "Are you ready for that level of manipulation?"

"I think she's already there," the brunette admitted. "It'll only get worse once she starts speaking in full sentences." Brittany's smile faltered for a split second, but she hummed her agreement. "She already has me wrapped around her tiny fingers," she laughed, reaching into the backseat to tickle at Dylan's palms, "don't you mija?"

* * *

"Hey love," Santana whispered, leaving a small crack in the French doors behind her on the off chance that Dylan, who was sleeping soundly in her crib, woke up. "I brought you a glass of your favorite." She extended one hand, feeling the weight of the Riesling slip from her fingers to those attached to the body in front of her. Easing into the lounge chair on the balcony, she set her own glass onto the ground, calling the other woman to her and inviting her to settle in between bare caramel legs. "Where have you been tonight?" Brittany's brows scrunched in confusion, and the brunette swept her wife's hair around, hanging it over one shoulder, and placed a solitary kiss against the base of the blonde's spine. "Where did you go? It seems like there's a lot going on in that pretty head of yours."

"I'm just thinking," she acquiesced.

"About what exactly?" Santana pressed, pulling the dancer's body more snugly against her front. After several moments of silence, the brunette sighed, removing her forehead from where it was pressed against Brittany's back and tucking her chin over the other woman's shoulder. "You have to talk to me, beautiful. I can't know what's upsetting you if you don't let me in a little."

Taking a long sip from her glass, the blonde nodded before setting her glass down next to her wife's. "I love you, I do. You need to remember that first off." Santana's heart lurched into the pit of her stomach, and she willed all of the energy she possessed that wasn't distributed to interpreting Brittany's words toward stilling her shaking hands. "I just don't remember things ever being this hard with you before. Not just the things we're encountering, like with Dylan, because we've been through difficult things before, but just like – being with you – as awful as that sounds." She paused, waiting for a response, but received nothing more than a slight nod brushing her cheek. Before she continued, however, she felt a hard swallow against her shoulder and an unwanted shiver of fingertips against her stomach; at that same moment, the brunette cursed her body for not obeying her requests to maintain a semblance of tranquility, feigned though it may have been. "I just feel like sometimes we're walking in the same direction, at the same speed, but we're parallel lines. We're never going to intersect, you know? I can see you, and I can see that we're moving together toward something, but it used to feel like we shared a line, if that makes sense." Another nod and a strangled cough punctuated the end of her sentence, leaving the air around them thick and unsettled. Santana slipped out from behind her wife and stood, striding over purposefully toward a potted plant in the corner of the balcony and retrieving a pack of cigarettes and weather worn lighter from the leaves. "I want us to be on the same line again."

She watched as the flame lit up Santana's face, highlighting her cheekbones and bringing her eyes from nearly black to a light cinnamon. Brittany knew she should have been upset that her wife was smoking once again, despite the longitudinal gaps between cigarettes, but since the night that they'd officially met, it was difficult not to find something about the smoke caressing her lover's lips intoxicating. Observing the nonchalant way she inhaled and held the drag in her chest had been far more addicting that had been the cool easiness that slipped down the blonde's own throat. "I'm trying Britt," she finally whispered, blowing the smoke upward and into the summer night, watching as it all dissipated.

"Maybe we need to quit trying then," the blonde countered, sounding entirely too confident for Santana to be comfortable with the response. Rather than querying as to what exactly those seven words meant, the brunette pulled another drag from the quickly dwindling cigarette tucked between her fingers and ran her fingers through the top of her hair. Blue eyes scanned Santana's body, noting the collapsed spine, nervous fingers, and slumped shoulders before a flash of realization coursed through her veins. "I didn't mean for that to come out the way it sounded," she choked out. "You know how I am with words sometimes. I meant maybe we need to stop trying together." The brunette's eyes sought out her wife's, both now wide with panic. "I didn't mean it like that either," Brittany muttered, stumbling over both her words and thoughts.

Tossing her cigarette off of the balcony, Santana sunk back into the lounge chair and tucked a few strands of hair behind her wife's ear. "Take a breath, and try again."

After several long, pregnant moments of silence, the blonde finally deemed her throat capable of speech. "We've never had to try before." Relinquishing the small amount of control she had over her mind, she allowed the first years of their relationship to flutter past her, flipping like pages in a picture book and wrapping her in the comforting remembrance of a time far more simple.

"I know." Flicking one nail against the other, the photographer studied her hands carefully before speaking as well. "Maybe we're trying too hard," she offered with a shrug. "Is that kind of what you were getting at?" Allowing the just the last few weeks to meet with the far more pleasant memories she'd been previously escaping within, Brittany let out a resigned nod. The brunette wrapped an arm around her wife's waist, tugging her a little closer and rested her chin on the exposed, summer freckled shoulder. "Then we'll figure something else out. I'd rather us feel like we're trying too hard, rather than not trying at all. Once we stop trying to find an equilibrium, we don't have anything left."

Allowing the words to filter through her neurons a few times, Brittany found that they resonated with her far more than she had anticipated, leaving a buzzing mass of questions building in her gut, with one, the most vague, but simultaneously the most important, floating toward the top of the fray. "Do you think we'll be all right?" She worried her fingers in her lap, clenching her eyes tightly shut as if she could erase the shakiness of her voice as she inquired what both were thinking, but neither had wanted to speak aloud.

However, without so much as a second thought, Santana met her wife's nerves with a steady voice, her words holding tinges of an air of confidence. "I know we will sweetheart."

"And about what Quinn said earlier?" she whispered, knowing full well she needn't elaborate. Within all of things that had been lost in the shuffle of matrimony, their understanding of one another hadn't yet faltered. If that innate silent comprehension left them, she knew what strands they held tight to now would splinter, leaving them dangling far more dangerously than they had been.

"I think we need to focus on us for right now; maybe we can try in a few months." Glad to see they were on the same page, the blonde nodded, tilting her head to press a kiss against her wife's temple. "We need to recognize that we're doing better though – not our best, but better." The quickened heartbeat she felt beneath the palm that had snuck up the blonde's back reaffirmed her belief that they needed even the smallest grains of positivity to be able to move forward more easily. Her words were truthful; they were better, but they weren't where they had been before Jack, before her breakdown, and before the _kind-of-but-not-really _diagnosis of their daughter. "In the meantime, I vote that we reinstate Naked Sundays -"

"And Ass Appreciation Tuesdays," Brittany chuckled.

"Those too," Santana grinned, relishing in the warmth of their humor, yet unhindered by the seriousness of their slippery issues. "And if you would want to, Dr. Goodwin said she'd speak to both of us for a few sessions, even though she isn't exactly a couple's therapist - see if she has any suggestions."

"Okay, we can do that."

"Yeah?" The single worded question was accompanied by a perfectly arched eyebrow and distinct bubble of hope building in the photographer's chest. She'd trained herself not to allow those feelings to fill her up entirely, at risk of having that balloon popped as quickly as it had inflated, but the reminder that the woman sitting next to her was Brittany, _her _Brittany, her wife and lover and best friend, overshadowed her encumbered fear of falling. There had yet to be a moment when the woman she fell so quickly for had not caught her, and developing a fear of that now seemed unreasonable.

"Yeah," Brittany breathed out. Pressing her lips together in a strained smile, she contemplated withholding her next words, but discarded the thought almost as immediately as it appeared. "But right now, I think I'd like to finish this wine, crawl into bed, and cuddle for a while. Could we do that?"

"Sure, sweetheart. We can do that."

* * *

**AN: The reason our puppy doesn't have a name just yet, is because three were thrown my way that I like a lot, and I can't decide on which. So, in the running are 1. Lola, 2. Sugar, and 3. Lucy. Let me know if you all have a preference, haha. :) Also, a HUGE thank you, because this is my first story that's broken the 200 review mark, and I am so grateful for all of your kind words thus far! I never imagined this sequel would grow to be what it is. **

**As for her shoes, I don't know if all (or any) of you know about squeaker shoes, but they're pretty popular where I'm from. Plus youtube with a slash before this, so you can see what they are, if you didn't already know! **watch?v=xqaAaJ50jqY **I hope you all had wonderful holidays, no matter what you celebrate, if you celebrate. If you don't, I hope you at least got a day or two off of work and/or school. Haha. As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and review if you do so feel inclined. xx Aimee**


	33. Chapter 33: So Getting Lucky

She watched intently as the long strands of hair entangled in her fingers twisted into curls and released themselves, content to continue her ministrations until the woman curled into her chest awoke. She allowed another lock to fall flat, straightening immediately from its previously twisted state and elected to run her nails through the blonde cascades covering her wife's back. As her fingers absentmindedly worked through a particularly difficult knot, Santana fluttered her eyes shut once, twice, and a third time, capturing every sensation in the moment. It was early, far too early for her to justify being awake, even on a Friday morning, but the steady breaths against her collarbone had lulled her into a semiconscious sense of tranquility. She relished in the weight of Brittany's arm resting across her abdomen, the sleep-soaked skin warm against her own, fighting against images of a rounded bump there, rather than the flat plane she still boasted. Santana lay still for hours, dutifully running her fingers through her wife's hair, a soft, easy smile coloring her features until she felt the blonde's grip around her waist tighten marginally before the tense muscles of Brittany's forearm relaxed. A single fingertip traced a two-lettered morning greeting into her stomach, causing her grin to widen.

"Hi yourself," she whispered in return. "Sleep well?" The dancer nodded against Santana's chest before stifling a yawn. "What time is your interview?"

Humming as she pulled away to sit up and stretch out her back, Brittany noticed how her fingertips tingled as they too removed themselves from the warm comfort of the brunette's body. It was a sensation long removed from their daily interactions, and the sudden reappearance of those tingles caused hope to balloon in her chest as she tilted her head left and then right. After several satisfying cracks and yet another stifled yawn, she shifted her gaze to the woman next to her, still tangled in their charcoal sheets, more radiant than she'd remembered. "It's at ten o'clock," she finally answered. "If the studio director likes me, I'll get a trial run with one of the afternoon classes, but I'll be back in time for the gallery opening tonight." Santana nodded, watching as a glow permeated the air around them at the mention of the blonde being able to teach classes once again. She'd worked some right out of college, but once Dylan was born, she'd resigned from the studio she was with, and was desperately searching for something closer to their home. "What are you staring at?" Brittany chuckled, ducking her head slightly under her wife's steady gaze.

"You just look really pretty," the brunette replied, not removing her flickering eyes from each inch of freckled skin she'd spent the better part of her morning recommitting to memory.

"You're only saying that because I'm topless and you're getting a free show."

Scoffing as she sat up, her look of indignation brought another set of giggles bursting from Brittany's lips, though they were quickly muffled by her wife's mouth, pressing onto her own with fervor and leading her back toward the mattress. "I'm saying it because you are really pretty," she refuted, punctuating her statement with teasing kisses that smacked loudly each time she pulled away. "Am I not allowed to compliment my ridiculously attractive wife without her thinking I have a motive?"

The blonde tugged her bottom lip into her mouth, feigning thought temporarily before shrugging and shaking her head. "Nope, not really." She squealed as Santana then lunged forward, digging her fingers into her wife's sides and tickling without abandon as the dancer wiggled beneath her.

"Say mercy!" she coaxed. "Say it!" However, rather than admitting defeat, Brittany managed to grab hold of the cheeks of her relentless tormentor, surging their mouths together and letting the light tug of her teeth against the brunette's lower lip distract her hands from their mission. Santana's palms instead went slack before wrapping around her wife's shoulders and pulling her back upward, intent on keeping their mouths joined as they shifted positioning, ending with the brunette's legs wrapped tightly around Brittany's waist, leaving her to sit in the blonde's lap. It wasn't long before a caramel hand snaked downward, tickling gently as it meandered past the ribs encompassing the dancer's quickly beating heart, the slim waist she'd fought hard to regain, and a light tuft of hair that separated the innocent from the not-so-innocent touches. Santana allowed it to continue its trek, meeting the familiar warmth as a just as familiar gasp met her ears. Having been intent on watching her own hand's progress, chocolate eyes shifted upward to see Brittany's dark blue watching her intently, her breaths short and far from even as small, tight circles made an appearance, molded against her most sensitive place – one few had explored, but none had really touched. As her back arched into her wife's chest, pressing them more closely together and trapping Santana's hand between them, she was reminded of how these moments with her wife were more than physical, and always had been. These touches were manifestations of the intimacy words seemed to convolute; they were the simplest way for them to reconnect, and the shortest path to a return to normalcy. She realized that perhaps, this had been their problem all along – not that they hadn't been trying enough, or had been trying too much, but that they were trying in the wrong ways. She'd forgotten how cherished she felt when their eyes locked in these moments; she'd forgotten how close her heart felt to Santana's and how this, lying bare and vulnerable, was the ultimate act of trust you could give another person. As fingers slipped past their original destination, she began remembering, and buried her head into the brunette's shoulder, soon after choking out a single word as her body shook, both from the lingering effects of her orgasm and the tears building in her chest.

"Mercy." Pulling back just far enough to press her lips against her wife's temple, Santana hushed words of reassurance into gratefully receiving ears. Sliding her left hand from between them, she carefully wrapped the blonde in her arms, continuing her stream of soft phrases and gentle cooing. As the tears turned into hiccups, Brittany wiped slowly beneath her eyes, allowing her watery gaze to meet the woman holding her together so confidently. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too sweetheart," Santana whispered back, leaving a single kiss above a freckled collarbone and pulling her wife tightly against her once more.

* * *

A flash of blonde rushed through the doorway, nearly knocking over the three brunettes she passed in her mad dash for the bedroom. Tilting her arm to check her watch, Santana noted that it was nearly six o'clock, an hour past the time her wife had assumed she would be home. "Should I assume things went well then?" she called out across the loft, earning a chuckle from the teenager to her left.

"Oh!" she heard in response, then the slamming of several cabinets, and a muffled _oomph _followed immediately by a long string of profanity, one that led her to believe her incredibly graceful wife had in fact run into their recently moved dresser for the third time that week.

"We just put that there," she teased as messy blonde locks made an appearance around the edge of the door, accompanied by bare shoulders and a wide grin.

"I got the job. I swear I'll tell you everything at dinner, but I know I'm late – super late! I'm sorry!" Both Santana and Jordan folded into giggles once more at her speedily delivered news and the fast pace with which she was moving, one that held the words impending disaster over her head in flashing neon lights. The brunettes retreated towards the kitchen, still fighting the dredges of their laughter, whereupon Santana grabbed the small bowl of macaroni and cheese and a tiny spoon she'd laid out earlier, hoping to finish feeding Dylan her dinner before leaving. In her knee length shift dress and sky high heels, she couldn't have possibly looked more out of place in her own kitchen as she made airplane noises to encourage her daughter to open her mouth. Eventually, the little girl grew bored of aviation, and as Brittany stepped out of the bedroom, adjusting the sleeves of her blazer, her lips tucked into a thin line to hold back her own laughter.

"Ay mija," Santana grumbled. "Open up for the choo-choo train." Dylan scrunched her face in disapproval, leaning backwards and away from the small pink spoon in her mother's hand. "Por favor Lisita, just one more bite." Palm covering her hand, the blonde entered the kitchen, pecking both her wife and daughter on the cheek. She tickled the little girl's side until a wide smile erupted, and the brunette managed to slip a last bite of the noodles into Dylan's mouth. "Thank you love," Santana grinned, thankful her wife was in flats as she leaned forward for a slightly more drawn out kiss. "Are you ready to go?" With a simple nod, Brittany tangled their fingers together and moved into the living room where they deposited their daughter onto the couch near, but not too close to Jordan, who had one of their hundreds of animated movies playing.

"Good choice," the blonde grinned as she watched the opening credits to The Princess and the Frog splayed across their television screen. "The music in this one usually calms her down if she gets fussy."

"We both have our cells, so call if things get out of control here," Santana added, a twinge of worry nestling itself in her gut. Progress had been made, but not much, and Dylan was still far less comfortable than they'd like her to be when it came to being left alone with those outside of her immediate family.

"Will do LP and other LP." Jordan's eyes flickered from the TV to the small child nestled into the pillows next to her, blue eyes wide as she wiggled her legs along to the beat of the first song. "Have a good time." The older brunette squeezed her wife's hand quickly, feeling the waves of nervousness electrifying their grip, and tugged her toward the front door, hoping to make it into the stairwell before the urge to turn around and call the entire night off grabbed hold of her logicality. As the lock clicked into place, she shouldered her bag and released the sigh she'd held captive in her throat, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly.

Warm breath surrounded her as an open mouthed kiss was pressed into her hairline, just about her temple. "She and Lola will be just fine with Jordan," the blonde cooed. Santana looked down, noticing that within the last few minutes, their handhold hadn't yet broken, and she applied a light pressure to her wife's palm before nodding. Brittany tucked her free arm around the other woman's shoulders and pulled their bodies more closely together. "We're only strong enough together sweetheart." The brunette allowed her own arm to snake around her wife's waist, squeezing there once as well in agreement. She jumped back when she heard her phone vibrating violently within her purse, sucking in another breath when their babysitter's name flashed across the screen.

"Hello?" she whispered, hoping beyond hope that the girl could not hear her voice echoing from the hallway.

"She's _fine_ LP," Jordan stressed. "I haven't heard your heels in the stairwell, so I'm going to assume that you're still outside, freaking out about leaving her." Santana rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, but didn't debate the point. "Now, _go _you two!"

"Fine," she grumbled, ending the call and grabbing Brittany's hand once more before they began their descent, each click and clatter of her shoes an audible, tangible representation of the babysitter's words repeating in her head. _She's fine. _

* * *

"Andy, it's all beautiful," Quinn breathed out, leaning into his side after retrieving a flute of champagne from one of the waiters meandering through the thick crowd within the gallery. He murmured a few words of shy gratitude before kissing the top of her head. "You've really outdone yourself."

"As have you, Lucy Q," she heard from behind them. Chocolate eyes scanned the gold bondage dress, clinging to each dip and curve of the petite blonde's body, and Santana nodded her approval. "You look beautiful," she announced, pulling her best friend into a tight embrace before whisking her glass out of her hand and taking a small sip. Brittany nodded as she wrapped her own arms around Andy's broad shoulders, watching the interaction with a small smile. It all felt comfortable, as if the residual tension of the previous weeks were fading away into nothing more than a fuzzy memory. Bodies seemingly magnetized, as both women pulled away from their friends, they merged together seamlessly, hips flush against one another and hands tucked into the crevices of their waists. As per habit, as Quinn returned herself to her fiancé's side, her own eyes scanned the unspoken language between her two best friends. She hadn't been sure what to expect after the open mic night weeks before, and their brief excursion to the park had given her no time to interpret their touches or glances; for years, being able to deduce their interactions and determine where they stood had left her with a strange sense of tranquility, in knowing whether treading cautiously was a necessity. Hazel eyes softened as Santana leaned into her wife's side, whispering something with a smile as her fingers pressed more generously into the dip of the blonde's waist. Brittany chuckled lightly, covering her lips with the back of her hand, careful not to spill the flute of champagne she'd been given by yet another passing waiter. As the dancer leaned in, leaving a chaste kiss on Santana's cherry red lips, Quinn nodded her silent approval, a brilliant smile attached to her features. The pair continued whispering before meeting identical quizzical stares, then flashing mimicked bashful grins.

"We're going to go and look around a bit," Brittany finally determined, looking over at her wife for confirmation. "Check out some of Andy's work."

"We'd better not find you making out in a dark corner," Quinn teasingly chastised, though honestly, the thought was far more comforting than the idea of finding them bickering in that same corner, as would have been more likely three weeks prior. "Keep it in your pants you two."

"Not wearing pants," Santana winked before tugging at her blonde's waist and shooting a cheeky smirk in her best friend's direction, "so no promises." Still closely knit, the pair walked toward the front of the gallery, taking in each piece, though neither could make heads or tails of what exactly the bright colors and paint splattered canvases were meant to symbolize. Detaching their limbs, the brunette tapped at her phone's screen a few times before offering it to her wife. Blown up on the screen was a photo of Dylan, peacefully sleeping in her crib, arms wrapped around her stuffed elf, with Lola curled up on the floor near her, sent nearly an hour before with an accompanying text message.

_She crashed a few minutes ago, so if you guys want to go out after the gallery thing, I don't mind staying a little late. _

Pleased to hear that things were running smoothly at home, Santana molded their bodies back together and continued their exploration of the gallery, quietly discussing the job offer the dancer had received at a reputable studio not far from their loft. Brittany explained her work schedule, one consisting of three morning classes a week, teaching toddlers as she had before Dylan was born, and three additional evening classes – contemporary, hip hop, and a flexibility workshop. The brunette's wink and overtly sexual commentary on the potential benefits of the last earned her rolled eyes and a light scoff; she noted, however, that Brittany didn't correct her assumptions, and drew an invisible mental tally mark in the victory column. A warm hand found the small of each of their backs, prompting them to turn and meet twinkling hazel eyes. "Andy sold four of his paintings!" she exclaimed, those same bright eyes flooded with pride. "We're going out for a few drinks to celebrate, if you two can get the babysitter to stay a bit later." Santana arched an eyebrow in her wife's direction, and the blonde very simply shrugged in response, a coy smile playing against her lips before they jointly nodded.

* * *

"Quinn, how in the hell did you convince me to come to a gay bar? I feel like every guy that passes our table is checking me out."

"Andy, don't be silly," Santana chastised before rolling her eyes at his ignorance. "Some of those guys are actually girls, and are only sizing you up as competition." She lifted her glass to her lips, slowly sipping on her cranberry juice as her wife swayed slightly in the bar stool next to her. Leaning over, she ran her free hand down the blonde's back, provoking a shiver despite the late summer heat, and brought her lips closer to Brittany's ear. "I'm going to call and check in with Jordan, okay?" Nodding slowly, the dancer caught Santana's hand as she slipped off of her seat, pulling the brunette back into her body and pressing their lips together for several seconds longer than necessary.

"You can go now," she giggled as their mouths separated, fluttering her eyelashes and cocking her head to one side. Despite a few occurrences in high school, and a handful more in college, Brittany had never been much more than a lightweight, and a flirty one at that. "I'll miss you though."

"Gag me," Quinn groaned, pulling her own glass to her lips and sipping heavily on it. "They are disgustingly adorable when sober," she explained to her fiancé, "but downright unbearable after a few drinks. Can we just go dance?" He nodded once, before turning toward the other blonde at the table and gesturing silently in her direction. "Santana will be back soon. She'll be fine."

If Brittany had noticed her friends' disappearance, she didn't show it, as she sat quite still for the next few songs, swirling the straw in her drink with her pointer finger, a lazy smile etched into her cheeks. She waved off several potential dance partners before glancing at her watch and noticing more than fifteen minutes had passed without her wife returning to her side. Stumbling slightly as she hopped down from her bar stool, she clenched her glass tightly as she licked the spilled liquor from the jostled drink from the back of her hand before moving slowly toward the front door. Leaning out, she scanned the empty sidewalk and found no sign of the petite brunette. "Johnny, have you seen Santana?"

The bouncer gestured back into the bar, pointing in the direction of the bathrooms. "She seemed kind of upset, and went running back in," he explained quickly. "I haven't seen her since Britt." She nodded, furrowing her brows, and followed his extended finger toward the back corner of the bar, where a long queue had formed outside of the single stalled bathroom. With a few _excuse me_'s and several more glares, she made her way to the front of the line, ignoring the other women's protests.

"Back of the line Blondie," the woman at the head of the line griped. "You know the rules: one in there at a time." Blue eyes made bleary attempts at focusing on the woman's face as an alcohol soaked brain tried to interpret the words being angrily thrown at her, but in her current state, far more inebriated than she'd anticipated becoming, neither captured her interest. "Besides, the bitch in there has been singing in some other language for the past couple minutes, so I'd recommend leaving her drunk ass alone." Disregarding the woman's words, Brittany pounded on the door to the bathroom several times, calling out her wife's name loudly, attracting the stares of several bar patrons aside from the group of women in line. The door swung open quickly, taking the blonde off guard, and a caramel hand reached out and pulled her in blindly before swiftly locking the door behind them once more.

"What are you –" Santana shushed her wife, placing a solitary digit over her lips as she returned her attention to her phone and began singing again. Peering over the brunette's shoulder, Brittany took in the contents of the screen, boasting Jordan and Dylan, rocking slowly on the couch. The infant looked to be not far from sleep, though her babysitter looked downright exhausted in the light of the laptop. Standing stock still, the blonde washed her wife in a gaze composed of adoration, pride, and the slightest hints of confusion until Jordan gave a thumbs-up and both she and the brunette on the other end of the video call ended the connection.

"Dylan woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep because we weren't there," she illuminated, shoving her phone into her purse before intertwining their fingers and pulling Brittany along behind her, back towards their table. They received a fair share of scathing remarks and flesh-melting glares, but Santana ignored those in favor of continuing her explanation. "I told Jordan to open Skype on our laptop, so that Dylan could see _and _hear me. I figured it would work better than a regular phone call, since I didn't know if you had the video you made Rachel on the computer." Despite her mental cloudiness, the blonde nodded, smiling gently at her wife and pulling her tightly against her chest.

"You are _so _getting lucky tonight," she husked into Santana's ear before pressing their mouths together and pulling her towards the dance floor.

* * *

**AN: Happy new year to all of you! I want to say thank you for allowing me to share a portion of my 2012 with all of you, and as thanks for such, I hope you enjoyed the major dose of fluff you received in return. Haha. As always, thank you for the love you've sent my way.**

**To my guest, who very plainly stated that Andy is a wimp: In a world where nearly everyone's personalities are dynamic, anything less than that seems paled in comparison. The majority of the characters in this story have at least one strong, determining characteristic, and none of them are anything less than dramatic in at least one aspect. There has to be balance in the characters, which is why Andy has always been on the quieter, more bashful side, as far back as my original story. With that said, there are nearly as many "Quandy" shippers as there are Faberry, and I fully intend for Rachel to be in Quinn's life, through a strong friendship as things progress. If you go to canon, Quinn has almost always been paired with other strong personalities - Puck, Finn, and Sam. Those relationships are the only ones that had screen longevity, whereas Joe and Artie were never fully explored. Those relationships all crashed and burned rather spectacularly. In my opinion, she needs someone to balance her and support her, rather than compete with her. As for the timeframe of their relationship, yes. They've known each other for a year at the time of engagement. However, you must also take into account their ages. As a teenager, an engagement that quickly would be farfetched, though that isn't nearly as true when you are in your mid-twenties, as they are now. You should also note that they've been engaged for over six months at this point in the story, and there has been no rush to plan a wedding. I view engagements more as a promise than a timeline, as an indication of intention. A friend of my fiancee's got engaged after five months of knowing her own fiance. My parents were engaged after about six months, and have been together for 27 years. A friend of mine was engaged after two weeks, and has been with the same man for five years now. It's a distinct possibility, and quite usual where I come from, thus the incorporation into the story. Will their wedding be a large plot point? No. Will their relationship ever be a power player as far as this story goes? Again, no. With that said, however, I do thank you for your criticism, and take everything into consideration. **


	34. Chapter 34: Baby Brother or Sister

"Lisita, stop wiggling," Santana chuckled, adjusting her hold on her daughter who seemed content to squirm in her arms any time the music began playing. She'd received several kicks to the ribs as Dylan moved around, and finally opted to set the little girl on the floor, allowing her to twirl in circles as the song was restarted once more. The brunette couldn't help but grin as her black and green tutu flared up around her with each spin, despite the fact that the bow she'd pinned her daughter's bangs back with was precariously close to falling from her curls. Three solid claps captured her attention, the final signal that her wife was done teaching for the night, and she pulled Dylan by the hand out of the path of the doorway, allowing a steady stream of teenagers to exit without fear of the child being trampled. Several of the girls ruffled the top of her hair, and rather than hide herself against Santana's jeans, she simply stared at them quizzically for a moment before redirecting her interest to the studio, now significantly emptier.

"Mama!" she cried out, yanking her hand free from the brunette's and running full throttle towards Brittany, who set her water bottle down and scooped the little girl into her arms. Receiving a slightly sloppy kiss, the blonde grinned at Dylan before leaving her own kisses to cover every inch of the child's cheeks and forehead.

"Well hello to you sweetie," she commented, a laugh bubbling in her throat. "Did you want to dance with the big kids?" Scanning the room quickly, the miniature brunette saw three female students hanging back, all smiling at her expectantly; furthest from her position was her other mother, who nodded encouragingly a few times from her place in the doorway. Dylan echoed the nod, much more timidly, though the incessant wriggling she recommenced to remove herself from Brittany's hold spoke a little more loudly than did her other actions. The blonde set her down on the ground, removing the lopsided bow from her daughter's curls, tucking it into the back of her own ponytail for the time being as she crossed the studio floor to the stereo system. Santana met her there with an extended hand, an Adele song lit up on the screen of her phone.

"She hums along with it in the car," the brunette explained before scrunching her eyebrows slightly and pulling her lips to one side. "She tries at least."

"If ever there were a question of who knocked me up, it's now obvious. She's _your _child." Brittany took the proffered phone and plugged in the auxiliary cord, pressing play and twisting around to see her daughter's face light up. As the piano built up the beat, wide blue eyes fluttered shut and Dylan began softly swaying for several eight counts before taking off across the floor in an impressively cohesive combination for someone just barely fifteen months old. After a brief moment of panic when the little girl lost her footing, both women tried to stifle chuckles as she immediately began rolling around on the floor. As the song came to a close, another of the same artist began, and one of Brittany's students bravely approached the child, offering her hands to the little girl. Dylan scanned her face, noting cat-like eyes similar to her mother's and long blonde hair pulled into a messy bun.

The student, Jessie, squatted down to come to the same level as the little girl, speaking softly as not to intimidate her. "Will you dance with me?" Hesitantly, Dylan nodded, having grown used to Jessie's request each week at the end of Brittany's contemporary class. She'd been teaching for three months now at the new studio, and more often than not, the other two members of the Lopez-Pierce family met her after her class on Wednesday nights. It was an attempt at normalcy and a dedication to their family that centered their focus midway through the week, and Dylan was rarely happier than when she was allowed to watch her mother teach.

"Baby steps," Santana whispered, wrapping her arms around her wife's waist and nestling her chin atop the blonde's shoulder. "We're making progress."

"Jessie's younger brother has Asperger's," Brittany returned in the same low tone, twisting her head slightly to press a quick kiss to the caramel temple barely inches from her lips. "She's been working really hard at getting through to Dylan." The brunette hummed her acknowledgement, tightening her grip marginally as they watched the teenager take one of their daughter's hands and twirl her once, twice, and a third time, until the little girl stumbled slightly. Jessie automatically reached out for her, steadying her footing, and rather than flinch away, Dylan simply stared at her, much as she had done with the girls in the lobby who'd ruffled her hair. Unaffected, the blonde offered her hands once more, twisting the child this way and that to the beat pulsing through the speakers, her gentle smile never faltering as she thought back to the first week she'd been in Brittany's class, when Dylan refused eye contact, much less allowed anyone but her mothers to touch her. As the piano died out, Jessie tapped the little girl's nose once and whispered out a thank you before straightening herself up and crossing the floor to retrieve her bag. She slipped on a hoodie and waved congenially at the couple as she exited, allowing them a moment to compose themselves by paying no attention to the tear tracks against their cheeks. Dylan fidgeted with her skirt for a moment before waving goodbye in response, which only catalyzed a second round of sniffles on her mothers' parts.

"I was going to say we could go out to eat at the pizza place you liked so much last month, but maybe we should just order in," Santana chuckled, unwinding her arms from around her wife's waist in order to wipe beneath her cheeks. Brittany nodded, mimicking the brunette's laughter before squatting and beckoning their daughter toward her. The little girl came running full speed and wrapped her arms around the dancer's neck, silently asking to be carried back toward the car. "Pepperoni and bacon?"

"And jalapenos on your half," Brittany agreed, slipping her bag onto one shoulder and perching Dylan on the opposite hip as she flicked the light switch off and left the studio in darkness.

* * *

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Santana's hands froze, the utensils she was using stoic as she took in her wife's question. She paused for a moment before resuming the task of cutting the slice of pizza in front of her into bite sized pieces. Shrugging noncommittally, she placed a few of her completed cuts on the tabletop of Dylan's high chair before taking her first bite of her own meal. "It's okay to be nervous," Brittany continued, treading carefully around the subject in the hopes that they could have this discussion without her wife retreating into her shell. "I'm kind of nervous too," she offered, feeling the resonating weight in her stomach confirm her attempts at empathizing.

Focused on the pizza in front of her, Santana took a few deep breaths before nodding, fidgeting with her hands in front of her. Staring down at her nails, she watched as they picked at a glob of congealed cheese attached the edge of her plate, the movements disconnected from the rest of her body. "I'm nervous," she finally breathed out, allowing Dr. Goodwin's incessant reminder to "own her feelings" echo within her skull. "I'm nervous that the tests won't go well, and we'll hear something we don't want to hear."

"It's not necessarily the end all though, right?" the blonde replied, hoping to instill a sense of optimism within her wife. "I could carry again or – "

Chocolate eyes flickered upward, flashing dangerously mid-sentence. "I'm not letting you carry again Britt. The chance of another placental abruption increases with the following pregnancy, and I almost lost you last time. I'll be damned if I nearly lose you a second time, not when we just found each other again."

"Or adoption," she finished, shifting out of her seat to move around the table, settling herself in her wife's lap. Brittany could feel the waves of fear shaking the brunette's frame and wrapped her arms tightly around Santana's shoulders, holding her together in the only way she knew how in that moment. She felt her wife's chest expand as she took in a deep breath, the citrus of the blonde's freshly washed hair coating them both in a film of familiarity. "We don't know what will happen tomorrow, but whatever _does_happen," she whispered into ears that gratefully received the hushed assurances, "I'll still be right here beautiful. I'm not going anywhere." Shifting her position slightly to cup caramel cheeks, the dancer pressed a firm kiss onto the corner of the other woman's mouth, rubbing it in gently with her thumb. "So let's finish our pizza, give Dylan a bath, and settle in with a glass of wine and a terrible Lifetime movie; how does that sound?"

With the promise of a glass of wine, something that sounded far better than Santana had anticipated, dinner was finished quickly, and the brunette lifted her daughter out of her high chair for her evening bath. Just as early morning feedings had sated her in the beginning, the soothing swishing of water and Dylan's contagious giggles washed the woman in a sense of tranquility as she in turn washed the infant in a combination the little girl was just as fond of – one of unbridled adoration, undivided attention, and strawberry scented soap. Lulled by the laughter floating toward her from the bathroom, Brittany cleaned the kitchen in a haze, trying to stamp out the feelings of insecurity she was unaware had the potentiality of being fostered by a short conversation. She'd been nothing short of optimistic about her wife's doctor's appointment the next day despite Santana's initial misgivings when she'd visited Dr. Jameson on her own, for an annual checkup. With her conception coming easily, it hadn't occurred to her that perhaps the same would not ring true for the beautiful brunette happily splashing with their daughter just rooms away.

Setting the last of the dishes into the drain board to dry, Brittany wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and pulled two large goblets out of the cabinets, pouring a sizeable amount of her wife's favorite wine into each before heading into the living room. A frustrated "_mija_" met her ears and she chuckled to herself when Santana called that she'd be in "as soon as their daughter learned how to cooperate." Digging through the couch cushions, as Dylan now had a habit of hiding anything she could get her hands on, the blonde sought out the remote control and upon finding it wedged beneath a pillow, powered the TV on. She'd nearly drained her glass of wine before realizing that her wife had yet to make an appearance in the living room, and flicking the television off, she followed the sound of Santana's voice, which had been previously overpowered by the movie she'd been half-watching.

"Lisita," she heard in a whisper as she stood just outside of the nursery's doorway, "how would you feel about a baby brother or sister?" The question was punctuated by the slight squeak of the rocker each time the brunette pushed the balls of her feet off of the floor. More often than not, Dylan didn't necessitate rocking, as she'd fall asleep on the couch or in bed with them, and could be safely transferred without fear of her waking up in transit, so the illustration blue eyes took in tugged at Brittany's heart strings. "Hopefully, Mami can give you one soon," she continued, patting the child's backside as they continued rocking, "but you'll have to protect them, your little brother or sister, because they'll look up to you mija. You'll have to show them the world and help them when Mama and I can't." Even in the low lighting of the room, the moon illuminated the pair enough for the blonde to see a gentle smile tickling her wife's cheeks. "I'm not worried though, Lisita; you'll be a great big sister." Brittany couldn't contain the whimper that escaped her lips, and Santana twisted in her place to see the dancer leaning against the doorframe, eyes watering dangerously. She stood slowly, still careful not to jostle their daughter, and settled Dylan into her crib, tucking a light blanket over her. "Did something happen sweetheart?" she hushed, brushing out the wrinkles in the fabric before crossing the room toward the hallway.

"No," the blonde whispered, shaking her head and wiping carefully beneath her eyes; her heart whispered as well, with just a slight increase in volume, that the very opposite was true however. In life, there are epiphanies that can rock the world on its axis, leaving people unsure as to where they stand in relation to the circumstances around them. These epiphanies can be global or focus on a single family; they can be positive or negative, faster than the touch of lightening on dry earth or slower than the sap that drips from pine trees; they can be earth shatteringly destructive, the culmination of extended progress, or the very beginning of a creation someone hadn't known they'd aspired toward or anticipated. "We're just so lucky to have you." It was a niggling fact of information that remained nestled firmly beneath long, blonde hair, but it seemed to have been buried beneath thoughts of responsibility and necessity, covered by domesticity and routine. Those flash flood emotions that led Brittany to that simple conclusion had dried up, been withered by a drought of obligation, but the conversation Santana had offered to their daughter unprovoked had broken the dam, allowing those feelings to rush over her wife once more, coating her in a stream of warm reassurance. "I love you," she murmured, pulling the brunette into her chest and wrapping her arms around narrow shoulders, squeezing that much more tightly when she felt warm hands settle onto her lower back, elbows tucked around her waist.

"I love you too Britt-Britt."

* * *

Fidgeting with the blanket draped over her lower half, Santana untangled her fingers from her wife's, opting instead to trace lines up and down her fingers in order to focus her attention on something other than the procedure she was anxiously anticipating. Brittany flipped their hands over and traced her own lines, though they followed the creases in the brunette's palm, rather than the path of her digits. Adopting a poorly executed accent, she began detailing Santana's life through the lines carved into her hand, occasionally glancing upward to see that the furrowed line between her wife's brows had dissipated.

"You see, my child, dis right here is ya life line." The woman lying flat chuckled, forgetting the uncomfortable chill in the room and the fact that she was covered by no more than a paper gown and a flimsy hospital blanket. "It say right here dat you gon' marry a fine piece of ass –"

"Already did," Santana teased, flipping her hand over to show her wedding ring. Smacking her hand before returning it to its position, palm up, the blonde chastised her wife's cheekiness and continued her reading.

"Oh lord child!" she grimaced. "It say right _here_," Brittany poked at a particularly fleshy portion of the caramel hand in her own, "that you gon' have mo' kids den you gon' know what to do wit."

"_Brittany!_" The exaggerated whine of the blonde's name was bracketed by more hearty chuckles, and the brunette held tightly to her stomach to try and control her laughter.

A firm knock at the door interrupted their giggling, and Santana felt her anxiety level rise once more as Dr. Jameson stuck his head in. "Glad to see we're in good spirits this morning ladies," he grinned. "Let's cover our bases before we get you in there. Any changes to your information since you last appointment?" The brunette shook her head, blindly reaching out for her wife's hand and intertwining their fingers once more. "You haven't developed a life threatening illness? No asbestos? New drinking problem I should be aware of? A one night stand that resulted in gonorrhea?" Cracking a wan smile, she shook her head once more, thankful for his ability to put them both at ease. "Everything so far has come back looking good, as far as hormone levels go. Your thyroid is working just fine, and your uterus seems ready to go as far as bun-in-the-oven status goes. We've got this one last exam to go through, shouldn't take more than five minutes, and if you pass this, you'll be good to go."

"And you said it was a hysterical what again?" Brittany queried, still unused to the unnecessarily long words the medical field seemed to favor.

"It's a hysterosalpinogram." She scrunched her brow, cocking her head to the side before shaking it slightly. "We call it an HSG." With that, she nodded twice before squeezing her wife's palm once. "Are we ready to get this done Santana?" The brunette echoed her wife's nod, lifting her feet into the stirrups and praying with everything she had that this would be the last of the tests to be ordered.

* * *

**AN: Much quicker update than you all have been used to recently! I hope you enjoyed it, as I felt we needed a bit of plot movement and fluff is almost always necessary in this fandom. Haha. :)**

To guest numero uno: I can't find a doppleganger of Andy as I picture him in my head, but the closest I could find would be Cameron Bailey, a model, though I've always seen Andy as quite a bit paler. So a lighter CB when his hair is on the longer side, but not puffy. Haha. That's the best I can give you, I apologize.

And to guest numero dos: My fiancee's name is Layla, so I am in fact engaged to a truly incredible woman. I don't know how on earth she puts up with me, to be perfectly honest. Haha. :) 


	35. Chapter 35: Price Check

"If you don't relax, it will only hurt worse," Brittany chastised, the thumb on her free hand pressing circles into her wife's lower back as her fingers curled around the curve of the brunette's hip. She felt the muscles beneath her palm unclench, and inserted the last syringe of their current cycle of IVF just beneath her wife's skin. As she had with every other injection, the blonde leaned over and pressed her lips to her hand before pressing her hand to the steadily coloring bruise already appearing against a smooth plane of caramel; the expanse of skin was marred by several others, a testament to the grueling weeks they'd subjected themselves to, rather than elect to adopt. Standing up straight and minimizing the wince that was determined to stretch across her features, Santana carefully readjusted her sweatpants and turned to fold herself into her wife's arms. "Thirty six hours, and this one is done," the blonde whispered into the top of loose, dark hair, curled at the very ends from the steam of their shower. Nodding, the smaller woman pulled away and sank onto the mattress with a hiss of discomfort, pulling their sheets up around her shoulders. As she circled the bed, Brittany dedicatedly clung to the knowledge that a powerful combination of things had whisked her wife away from her temporarily, and she was confident in the idea that the brunette would make a reappearance soon.

Having been weaned off of her medications just a few weeks prior, Santana's emotions were still across the board, and the daily hormone injections were doing no favors to her mood or to her marriage while she battled ten year old demons. Her nightmares had returned, and Brittany had suffered more than a few of her own bruises from her wife's sleep-fighting; all she could do was hold tight to the flailing brunette in her arms, even as she felt her heart cracking open in her chest, whisper soothing reassurances into unlistening ears, and steadfastly cling to fonder memories, remembering that the person in front of her was a Twilight Zone version of her wife, not the Santana she'd met on a bench in the middle of the night, nor the Santana she moved to Chicago with, and certainly not the woman she spoke her vows to with shaking hands but a steady heart.

As she slipped beneath the sheets on her own side of the bed, Brittany pressed a quick kiss to this brunette's temple and felt the body freeze against her lips, though it didn't pull away. She could feel _her _Santana fighting just behind those walls that had been built, and when a tanned hand reached out blindly, the blonde scooted forward, molding herself into the other woman's back. Both women allowed the warmth to comfort them, lulling them back toward a semblance of normality and allowing them to forget for the moment the blocked fallopian tube from an infection incurred more than ten years ago that had plagued their thoughts for the past few months.

* * *

_It's far easier than it should be to fall in love with a runner, someone who bolts at the first glance of danger, of fear, of upset or, quite frankly, of any emotion at all. There is a near constant chase, and sometimes when they are there, they aren't just the same. The relationship can be akin to a see-saw; just as you feel you're getting closer, just as you make a motion toward them, they mirror you, keeping the distance the same as it has always been. Sometimes, it's a hall of mirrors. You reach out to touch that person, the one who has ensnared themselves within your heart without your consent, and you find that they aren't real, nor are they there. You can hear their laughter, see their smile, and reach out for them, but you have no hope of those reaches transforming into touches. It's an unending game of tag, a constant volleying of feelings, a long distance sprint that seems interminable, but despite the odds, you continue chasing them. You continue chasing in the hopes of one day catching up to them, or at the very least, being close enough to convince them to come back to you. You continue chasing because the frustration of having something beautiful just out of your reach is maddening. You continue chasing because it's better than a stand still. You continue chasing because the chase is all you've ever known._

* * *

Long legs bounced mercilessly against the cool tile of the waiting room floor as shaky hands twirled her phone in circles in between two fingers. Brittany paused for a moment, ceasing her moments and staring down at the blank screen for several moments before resuming her twirling. It was their third cycle of IVF, and the waiting never managed to get any easier. They had agreed to keep everything quiet until a positive pregnancy test was sitting on top of their bathroom counter, and had managed to make it through three holidays with the secret firmly intact, but the each cycle was slowly eating away at the blonde's reserve. She unlocked her phone, thumb hovering over the single button she would need to press to be in contact with her mother until a warm hand on her shoulder jolted her from her position.

"She's recovering," Melissa whispered, trying to keep her voice low. "The procedure went really well," she continued, "but she'll need to stay here for another hour or two, until the sedation wears off a bit more. Dr. Jameson has faxed over two prescriptions to your pharmacy, one for an antibiotic to prevent infection, and another for progesterone supplements, to help with the implantation." Brittany nodded with each presented piece of information, though she was becoming an expert on the procedures herself. She stood, wringing her hands roughly as they meandered through the familiar hallways before opting to stick her clammy palms into her back pockets. "We have an appointment set for tomorrow morning, for the embryo transfer, though if she's not feeling well, we can reschedule later this week, okay? I remember she was fairly ill last time." The blonde nodded again, her voice firmly caught within her throat. As she silently followed the nurse toward her wife, she couldn't help but send prayers skyward that the next day would be their last until a blood test was done to confirm Santana's pregnancy. "Don't forget that Dr. J mentioned ICSI if the transfer doesn't take, if you two want to discuss that."

Clearing her throat slightly, Brittany finally found her voice. "I'm choosing to be optimistic, Mel." The nurse nodded, gifting her friend with a wan smile before opening an exam room door and ushering the dancer in. Her wife lay back on the exam table, chocolate eyes hazy and unfocused, seemingly fighting off the pull of slumber. Hearing the door click shut behind her, the blonde crossed the room with a surface confidence that wouldn't penetrate her felt need for self-preservation, her voice quiet when she finally spoke, taking Santana's hand in her own. "Hey beautiful; how are you feeling?" Clad in a thin paper gown, the other woman shrugged noncommittally before shivering against the chilled air. Brittany shrugged off her coat, laying it gently over her wife before pulling a rolling chair near the exam table and settling into it, intertwining their fingers once more. "Your appointment is tomorrow morning, at nine. You can stay in the car while I pick up your prescriptions, and then, in my professional opinion, you need a solid dose of bad reality TV and chicken parmesan."

"Sounds perfect love," Santana agreed, a slightly lopsided smile gracing her cheeks.

The blonde traced circles onto the back of her wife's hand, allowing the tiniest fragment of faith she possessed to bolster and grow before she spoke. "You know, I've got a really good feeling about tomorrow."

The words hung in the air, washing over the brunette in waves and allowing a tiny ball of hope to settle itself in her stomach. She could feel that ball catch fire, warming her limbs and cushioning her aching heart as it filled her frame with the optimism that never faltered within her wife. Santana nodded before leaning slightly to her left to bring their mouths together, the first physical interaction she'd initiated in weeks. "I've got a pretty good feeling too."

* * *

Tossing a bag of mini rice cakes into her basket, Santana glanced down at her shopping list, scanning it quickly before crossing the item off on the lined sheet of paper. "So it's official then?"

The blonde to her left nodded as she took a long sip of her tea, eyes flickering down the aisle before landing on the brand of tortilla chips she'd hastily scrawled on her own list. "I've been doing month-to-month on my lease because I had to wait for an official custody agreement to be filed, with the caveat that significant others could cohabitate with the guardians. I move in at the end of the week, right in time for Valentine's Day." Grabbing the chips, she tossed them into her own grocery cart before tapping her finger against the torn page in her hand. "I've got to grab tampons. I'll meet you at the register, okay?"

Eyes widening in panic, the brunette quickly waved off the suggestion and offered one of her own, silently commending herself on a well-executed white lie. "I'll get them. I have to pick up some for Britt anyway, and I only know it by the design on the box."

"You've been married for how long, and you only know the design on the box?" Quinn chuckled, rolling her eyes before acquiescing, though not without a second jab at her friend's expense. "You know, sometimes you're worse than a husband," she teased, receiving a slap on the bicep as she began maneuvering her cart toward the front of the store. Allowing the deep breath she'd been holding to flutter over her lips, Santana twisted her basket around, heading toward the back of the grocery store. Throwing two boxes of tampons in order to ward off any questions from her best friend, she scanned the rest of the aisle before her eyes landed on the pregnancy tests. She couldn't for the life of her remember the brand she and Brittany had picked up over two years ago, and the variety made her vision swim.

"You shouldn't need a pregnancy test if you've got tampons in the cart darlin'," an older woman chuckled, flashing a warm grin over her shoulder while she debated between the two bottles of vitamins in her hands.

Santana sent a tight lipped smile in response before finally pulling two boxes from the shelf and tucking them beneath the loaf of bread in her cart. "They're for my wife," she explained, though she wasn't sure why she felt the need to justify her purchases to a large, seemingly overbearing Southern woman in the middle of a grocery store. As she passed the section the woman still stood in, she paused for a millisecond but ultimately continued, chastising herself for getting her hopes up enough to consider buying prenatal vitamins.

"Ma'am?" Santana twisted in her place, frustrated with the apparent lack of boundaries this woman possessed before she caught a bottle being tossed in her direction. "You enjoy that little one now, you hear?"

"I'm not pregnant," she immediately protested, though she hoped beyond hoping that her words were a lie. Not faltering however, she placed the vitamins she had been thrown on the shelf and folded her arms over her chest.

"You keep telling yourself that darlin'." With another chuckle, the woman decided on the bottle in her right hand, placing it in her shopping basket and walking in the opposite direction of where the young brunette still stood, staring at her own bottle intently. Huffing once before rolling her eyes, she took hold of the offending object, tucking it behind her purse and walking quickly to meet Quinn at the registers.

"Took you long enough," she griped halfheartedly, a smile still playing against her features. Santana pursed her lips and shot her best friend the closest thing she could manage to a withering glare, given that her thoughts were still preoccupied with the woman's last words before leaving. After loading her groceries onto the conveyer belt, she tugged her phone out of her back pocket, sending a quick text to Brittany explaining her encounter and asking for reassurance that the woman couldn't have been able to tell so early, assuming she even _was _pregnant. The "I don't know babe, but I love you," she received in response did nothing to settle her nerves, and when the intercom above her sounded off, she jumped, dropping her phone in the process.

"Price check on EPT digital pregnancy test two-pack; price check on EPT two-pack. Thank you." She could feel her face burning as she fumbled on the ground for her cell phone, content to remain in her crouched position, avoiding the barrage of questions she anticipated would rain upon her the moment she stood. "Your total is 89.12 ma'am," Santana finally heard from above her head, and she slowly straightened up, vehemently ignoring her best friend's piercing gaze. She swiped her card quickly, gathering her bags and thanking the cashier before speed walking out of the automatic doors and quickly unlocking the Jeep.

"S!" The woman in question ducked her head, busying herself with perfectly arranging her things in one half of the trunk, leaving the other side barren for the blonde, as per their habit. "Santana, stop!" Flyaway hair settled as Quinn stopped at the trunk, haphazardly throwing her own purchases into the back of the vehicle before pulling her best friend tightly to her chest. "Are you pregnant?" she finally whispered, feeling the brunette shrug into the embrace. "I'm not mad," she cooed, running her fingers through the ends of Santana's hair, "but why didn't you tell me? We tell each other everything. Like, I'm the only one who knows that you had a crush on one of our student teachers in high school, and you're the only one who knows how many people I've actually slept with."

Pulling away from the blonde's arms, the photographer wiped away a few tears before meeting her friend's gaze, inquisitive though soft. "We didn't tell anyone. I finished my third cycle of IVF almost two weeks ago. It's hard enough having our hopes dashed every month; I didn't want that for all of you too." The questions she'd anticipated flashed one after another across hazel eyes, and Santana sighed, lifting her body up to sit on the back end of the Jeep as she explained the past three or four months of appointments, injections, and a fair share of heartache, before ending with her wife's closing words in Dr. Jameson's office. "Britt said she had a good feeling about this cycle," she murmured, unable to keep a slight grin from teasing at her cheeks.

"This is the only feeling I've ever hoped she'll be right about," Quinn chuckled, wrapping an arm around the brunette's waist and resting their heads together.

* * *

**AN: I haven't much to say as far as an author's note this time, though I would love to hear your feedback as far as the current progression. We have a character who'll be making a reappearance shortly, and over the next few chapters, there is going to be one _major _change that I think you all will really like. :) I hope you enjoyed, and I hope to be able to get another chapter up before I start my last semester of college next week. Until then, xx Aimee**


	36. Chapter 36: You Need to Have Another

**AN: Just to clear up the last chapter (I know it was a little convoluted and perhaps a bit too subtle to be followed), chapter 35 begins with the last injections of Santana's third cycle of IVF. It continues through the egg extraction, and alludes to her embryo transplant. "Three holidays," referred to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's, which covered the time span of the first two cycles. Therefore, Chapter 35 finishes at the beginning of February. Anddd, now we continue! :) **

* * *

Dark eyes fluttered open as the sound of incessant giggling flooded sleep-filled ears, landing on big blue eyes and chubby cheeks. Dylan sat just inches away from her mother, her palm clasped over her mouth as her laughter continued, only ceasing when Santana gripped her waist and lifted her into the air before pulling her downwards to her chest, causing her to squeal. Hugging the little girl tightly as she sat up, she caught the lightest hints of French toast wafting through the loft and her lips molded into a rare early morning smile.

"Hi Mama," Dylan said, attempting to return the other brunette's attention to where she felt it rightfully belonged. Lunging at her mother, she fell into her lap and curled into her chest, sighing contentedly.

Grinning at her daughter and gently brushing the tips of her fingers through the little girl's hair, Santana offered her own soft-spoken greeting. "Good morning mija," she whispered, punctuating the phrase with a kiss atop dark curls, "and happy Valentine's Day." Lifting her tiny hands, Dylan formed a lopsided heart and beamed proudly when her mother chuckled down at her. "Did Mama teach you that? You're so smart!" She heard a call from the kitchen, informing them both that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes, and she tickled her daughter's stomach before leaning more closely, keeping her voice just above a whisper. "Do you want to see about getting Mama's present?"

Santana padded toward the bathroom, stifling a yawn with one hand as the other ran through the top of her hair, taming the tangled waves she'd earned overnight. Dylan stood in the doorway, watching her mother intently for several minutes as the older brunette ran through her morning routine, splashing water across her face as she shivered against the cool tile teasing at her toes. Sufficiently awake, she took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of coffee now permeating her home as she wandered back into the bedroom, handing her wife's gift to their little girl and sending her in the direction of the kitchen with a pat on the butt. Following behind, the wooden floors creaking beneath her bare feet, she pulled her hoodie tighter against her thin frame as she watched Dylan tug insistently at Brittany's sweatpants, offering a thin, rectangular box with a light pink bow attached to the top in exchange for the blonde's undivided attention. Blue eyes lifted from the gift now resting firmly in freckled hands to a brunette who looked very much like the cat who ate the canary.

"We said no gifts this year," the dancer chastised, her eyes squinted in a halfhearted glare. "If it's expensive, it's being returned," she continued.

"I'll be honest when I say it cost a few thousand, but the policy specifically says no returns, so you're kind of stuck with it, love." Brittany's eyes widened and Dylan turned to observe her other mother, who stood leaning casually against the countertop. "Open it." Shaking her head slightly and rolling her eyes, the blonde shifted her gaze down to the box in her hands, lifting one finger to delicately trace over the curves and loops atop the small box. Her thumb came to meet its partner, pinching the end of one of the ribbons before tugging lightly, loosening the bow minimally. "Come on, just open it!" Her patience was wearing thin as her wife unraveled the tightly bound fabric, handing it to Dylan who immediately began tugging it between her fingers, now preoccupied with something other than the tension permeating the kitchen.

Shooting one final glare at Santana before lifting the top of the box off, both blue eyed girls in the kitchen dropped the items in their hands, Brittany with a shriek and Dylan with one of her own, in response to her mother's high pitched exclamation. Quickly eliminating the distance between herself and her wife, the blonde pulled Santana into her arms, her eyes wet at the corners as she murmured, "I love you, you idiot," on a loop, her grip tightening with each repetition. Pulling back slowly, she cupped warmed tan cheeks, seeing her tears reflected in wavering chocolate, and pressed their mouths together insistently, pouring into that one kiss all of the worries that had culminated in the past few months. "I love you," she whispered against plump lips. "God, I love you."

"I love you too," Santana managed through a chuckle, locking her intertwined fingers at the small of her wife's back and staring up into blue eyes that seemed to soften by the second. "Do you want to call your mom?"

"I've got a better idea." Pulling her phone out of her pocket as she squatted down to her daughter's level, she retrieved the hastily discarded items and set them onto the counter before taking a picture, sending it to Holly and folding her wife back into her arms as they awaited a response. The cell phone vibrated violently against the counter, twice in quick succession, her notification alerts chiming one after another, only interrupted by the blonde's ringtone sounding throughout the kitchen. "Hello?" she teased, dragging the second syllable out before being met with a barrage of questions. "Hold on. Are you both there?" Brittany set the phone down on the counter, pressing the speakerphone button and lifted Dylan from where she sat contentedly on the floor, still playing with the pink ribbon that had been wrapped around her mother's gift.

"Why didn't you tell us you were trying again? _How far along are you?_ Are you keeping the sex a secret again? _Have you started your prenatal vitamins sweetheart? _We want pictures of your first ultrasound. _Are they concerned about another placental abruption? Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that –_"

"Moms!" Santana exclaimed through her laughter. Both women on the other end of the end of the line quieted immediately, the only sounds hushed whispers to one another, rather than the infinite loop of commentary they'd begun after receipt of the photo containing a single item – the positive pregnancy test Brittany promised they would wait for. "Britt isn't pregnant. I am." The hushed whispers transformed to a second cacophony, primarily controlled by April, whose squeals had Dylan covering her ears and burying into her mother's chest. Taking hold of the phone, she quickly tapped at the screen, tucking it between her head and shoulder as she shifted the French toast onto three plates. "Yes, I'm very excited," she agreed, lifting an eyebrow in her wife's direction and grinning. "Look, I love you both, but we're about to sit down to breakfast. I promise I will tell you every detail later, okay? I'll talk to you soon." Settling the phone back on the counter, Santana slumped into the blonde's arms, nearly nose to nose with her daughter. "It's gonna be a _long _nine months mija." Allowing her wife's unwavering strength to seep into her limbs, she straightened herself moments later, tickling beneath the infant's chin before loading her arms with their breakfast dishes.

As the brunette carried the three plates to the table, Brittany settled the littlest Lopez-Pierce into her high chair, breaking the delivered toast and fruit into smaller portions; after the biting incident of Barcelona, Dylan had taken to feeding herself more often than not, and both of her mothers, as well as their fingers, were more than happy to oblige her wishes. Santana licked the back of her fork, humming her approval through a mouthful of syrup, receiving a bright smile from her wife who was slowly working her way through her own plate. Brushing her foot against Brittany's bare calf, the brunette caught the lightest hints of a blush dusting her wife's cheeks, finding home beneath a sprinkling of freckles. Marking a tally in her mental victory column, Santana leaned over, cleaning Dylan's sticky fingers as she wondered how the little girl had managed to get syrup in her hair and nowhere else. As she ran baby wipes over tiny hands, she felt blue eyes watching her intently, and glancing up caught Brittany leaned onto one hand, her elbow perched on the edge of the table, and her gaze unwavering. The blonde smiled softly, and Santana ducked her head to her chest, fighting a blush of her own. As Santana hid beneath the curtain of her hair, a silly grin carved into her cheeks, and she felt the familiar building of warmth in her stomach, accompanied by the lightest of flutters.

* * *

As you grow, the looks you exchange with others grow as well. They shift, metamorphose, expand or recede, but they never quit growing, just as we never do. We come into the world with little knowledge aside from the trust we're meant to instill in our parents; our eyes are bright, untarnished by the horrors of the world, and there, in pupils and colored irises, we convey our love when words haven't yet been grasped. As we mature, those eyes dim as the situations around us become more tangible; curiosity is all that can be found in the eyes of a five year old. There are limits to be tested, questions to be asked, and an entire world we realize is at our fingertips, ready to be grasped. For some of us, our looks harden. They become just one more barrier we set between us and the rest of the population; they are a guard to keep us safe, to ward off the advances of others. For some, looks become blank. They hold nothing, as we may feel just the same. There are looks of disgust, of confusion, of lust, and of love. It takes a strong heart, and an even stronger commitment, to be able to easily, at a moment's notice, switch between those last two. Lust is easy; it's the longevity of love that is hard.

* * *

"Jojo!" The older girl's arms opened wide as Dylan rushed toward her, squealing as she was scooped into the air and planted firmly onto Jordan's hip. "Hi Jojo," the little girl repeated, placing a small hand against her babysitter's cheek.

"Hey munchkin," Jordan chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You're getting so big!" Bouncing Dylan twice, she headed toward the women's bedroom, settling onto the mattress and plopping the child on her lap, whereupon the little girl began playing her favorite game – one that consisted solely of pressing the tip of her pointer finger to Jordan's nose then giggling uncontrollably as she pulled her hand away. "You two need to have another one," the babysitter called through the closed bathroom door, "because she's growing up way too fast."

On the other side of solid wood, Santana's mascara clattered against the counter as her eyes widened, flickering in her wife's direction. The blonde ran a straightening iron through her hair, seemingly unperturbed by Jordan's comment as she hummed under her breath. Eyelashes fluttering upward, she immediately took note of the look of horror on the brunette's face and wrapped the smaller woman in her arms immediately, setting the iron down near the sink. "You don't have to tell anyone else until you're ready," Brittany reminded her, the dancer's voice hushed in an effort to keep the conversation private. "It's still early in your pregnancy sweetheart, and this is all on your terms." She felt a hesitant nod against her shoulder and pulled back, pressing a lingering kiss to her wife's forehead. Reaching back, she retrieved the dropped mascara wand and held it up to Santana, who scrunched her nose cutely before returning her gaze to the mirror, running the brush through her eyelashes twice before nodding once to herself and leaning against the counter to watch as long fingers threaded through longer hair. As chocolate eyes scanned a freckled face, she remembered the glow Brittany boasted once her months of morning sickness had concluded. It seemed that now, perhaps in contrast to the ashen complexions they'd both sported each month they faced gestational failure, the blonde's demeanor rivaled that of when she herself was pregnant. Her movements were more graceful, her eyes sparkling, and her smile permanently etched into her cheeks. There was a lightness that hovered around them both, an aura of hope that permeated their interactions each and every day. All it took were eight letters splayed across a home pregnancy test, a confirming ultrasound, and short consultation with a real estate agent once realizing that with an expanding family, a housing upgrade might be a necessity. "Why are you staring?" the blonde chuckled, finally switching off her hair straightener and adjusting her dress.

"You're glowing," Santana grinned, grabbing hold of her wife's hand and swinging it between them. "It's cute."

"Well you radiate sunshine and rainbows just about constantly, and I'm afraid it's contagious," she teased, squeezing caramel fingers lightly. At the moment, with the brunette just at seven weeks, they were far off from being considered out of the woods, but Brittany's good feeling had formed a safety net beneath them, allowing them to dream wildly and pour faith into a yet intangible outcome. "Come on, let's get to dinner." She crossed the tiled floor to open the bathroom door separating them from their daughter, a protective hand nestled into the small of Santana's back.

Jordan let out a low whistle when they crossed the threshold, arching a single eyebrow at the pair in front of her. Rolling their eyes at her teasing cat calls as they continued through the loft, the couple gathered their coats quickly, waving goodbye to the babysitter and blowing several kisses toward their daughter before locking the door behind them. Santana twisted on the balls of her feet, turning to meet her wife's inquisitive gaze. Tilting up slightly, the brunette pressed their mouths together, humming contentedly when the blonde's lips separated her own, before pulling away reluctantly. "Get a room," she heard a breathy voice behind them call as the door parallel to their own shut as well. Lifting her middle finger over her shoulder, she wrapped her free hand around the back of Brittany's neck, encouraging her to lean forward for another, albeit far more chaste, kiss.

"I love you," she whispered as she settled back onto her heels, welcoming the arm slung around her shoulders and wrapping her own arm tightly around a trim waist. She leaned into her wife's warmth, doing her best to connect every inch of their bodies. Brittany's grip tightened minimally as Andy gestured to the stairs and all four trooped down, clutching their coats more closely once they'd stepped through the complex doors. Rather than drive, they'd elected to walk the short block to the restaurant, despite the fact that the weather had warmed only marginally. They'd had no snow within the month of March, but the wind bit at their bare legs as they hurried toward their destination, all four chuckling at Quinn's incessant protests of celebrating her birthday.

"I don't want to be reminded that I'm getting old," she complained, tucking her face into Andy's coat as they continued walking.

"I'll be twenty seven in July Q. What does that make me?"

The blonde lifted her head slightly, just enough to send a cheeky grin toward her best friend. "Practically ancient." She dodged the slap she knew was imminent, tripping over her own feet as Santana chased her, their heels clicking against the sidewalk as they laughed uproariously. Brittany arched an eyebrow in Andy's direction, and they moved simultaneously, grabbing both giggling women and separating them as they turned the corner.

"Twenty six years old and you still act like you're in kindergarten," the man chastised, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as the two continued to poke at one another, their eyes bright and their smiles wide.

"It's a part of our charm, isn't it Lucy Q?" Quinn nodded, reaching her hand out and squeezing the proffered fingers of her best friend as they entered the restaurant, shivering at the sudden increase in temperature. Andy spoke quickly with the hostess, beckoning the women to follow him as they meandered through the bistro, finally settling around a table in the back corner. As Santana scooted into the booth her wife occupied, she quickly decreased the distance between them, intertwining their digits immediately and pressing their bare legs against one another. The blonde flickered her eyes sideways, running her thumb over the top of a caramel hand, still chilled from the cold, and smiling softly. In contrast to Brittany's pregnancy, as the weeks progressed, the at times aloof brunette's need for physical intimacy ballooned. If the blonde were cooking, her wife was pressed into her back, head nestled over her shoulder; when watching TV, their bodies were molded together closely enough that it had become hard to determine where each woman ended and the other began; and every night, Santana fell asleep quickly, her head tucked just under her wife's and their fingers and legs akin to pretzels.

The waiter approached their table, pouring three glasses of wine, and assuring the fourth patron that he'd return with a glass of water momentarily. Quinn's eyebrow quirked, though she said nothing, and she soon turned her attention to the other blonde's inquiries about their impending wedding, set at the beginning of July. She bubbled over with excitement when discussing their appointment the following week to search for bridesmaid's dresses, and the simple comment had Santana's hand disconnecting from her wife's and settling over her stomach, though the action was covered by the tablecloth. When the waiter returned, taking their orders, Brittany stealthily moved her now free hand to cover quivering fingers before flashing a reassuring smile toward the brunette, who returned the gesture gratefully.

"So what's going on with the two of you? I feel like we barely see you both," Andy commented idly, swirling his wine glass a few times before taking a sip. "How is the studio Britt?"

"It's great," she nodded, breaking a breadstick in two and offering half to her wife. "We're talking about doing a few summer workshops after the review in May, so I've got to decide if that's something that will work with our schedules." Taking a small bite of the bread in her hand, she chewed thoughtfully before deciding to expound upon her vague comment, seeing the looks of confusion on her friends' faces. "We're looking into buying a house, and I want to be settled before I commit to anything, you know?"

Andy lit up, offering his congratulations, but Quinn's previously arched eyebrow returned, despite her own soft smile. "So I move in, and you two decide to move out?" she said airily, tilting her head against her hand and focusing her attention on her best friend, who'd yet to contribute more than a few words to the table's conversation. "Are you trying to tell me something, S?"

"Your hair looked better short," she replied, avoiding the inquisitive gaze of steeled hazel eyes. Santana felt her wife's hand move downward, giving her thigh a reproaching squeeze; she sipped her water slowly before extending an acceptably sincere apology. "It's nothing personal Q, you know that. We just need more room; we've been in that loft for nearly eight years and it's time for an upgrade." The brunette carefully scanned her best friend's face, watching as that single eyebrow began a hesitant journey downward, finally settling in its rightful place as Quinn's face relaxed.

"I'm really happy for you two," she whispered, nodding once for emphasis. "I'll miss you being right across the hall though."

"Yeah, the built-in babysitting was pretty sweet," Santana teased, winking at the blonde and encouraging a small smile. "So when are we going dress shopping again?" The change in subject carefully steered them away from Quinn's inquisitions, and the brunette mentally counted down the weeks until she could freely announce her pregnancy. Her hand resettled on her stomach, a caramel thumb rubbing back and forth gently as her best friend gushed about wedding colors, the venue they'd chosen, and whether they should serve chicken or seafood at the reception.

* * *

**AN: Be forewarned, from today until probably May, it will be unlikely that you'll get more than one update a week. I'm apologizing in advance for that, because I've never liked making you all wait for updates. As far as life goes, my last semester of undergrad starts tomorrow, I'm essentially running a business singlehandedly, and I have a wedding to plan, so writing has taken a bit of a back burner. I am not abandoning this story, nor do I have any intention of doing so. I will continue trying to churn out chapters at reasonable intervals, so please be patient with me.**

**With that said, I hope this chapter was a bit more clear than the last (I suppose that shows how scattered my brain is), and that you enjoyed it. Haha. As always, review if you will. xx Aimee**


	37. Chapter 37: Absolutely Beautiful Whale

"That color looks incredible on you," Quinn whispered, her eyes scanning the dress her best friend stood in, the dusty rose complimenting the brunette's slight flushed cheeks. "What do you think Britt?" The taller blonde nodded from where she stood, feigning a warm smile as she watched her wife's hands fidget behind her back. "It's a little long though, don't you agree?" The dress pooled at the floor, surrounding caramel toes in swaths of fabric, and Santana shrugged slightly.

Doing a few silent calculations, Brittany came to the realization that her wife would be nearly six months pregnant at the time of their best friend's wedding, and her bump would more than make up for the space the extra fabric allocated. "I think she'll be all right Q," the blonde quickly interjected. "We can put her in heels or hem it closer to the wedding if necessary."

"And the top is a little big too," the soon-to-be bride continued, her face morphing into one of horror as she realized the multiple issues her matron of honor's dress held. "We need to get a smaller size," Quinn finally determined, anxiously trying to wave down one of the employees on the sales floor, grunting in frustration when she was ignored and stalking away from the dressing rooms in an attempt to garner someone's attention. Watching carefully as their friend walked away, Brittany twisted her wife around, her eyes flickering against the wavering chocolate.

"I won't be able to fit in a smaller size by July," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I'm lucky this is the style she picked, because it isn't tight, but there is no guarantee my boobs will be able to squeeze into _this _dress then, much less a smaller one." Santana ran her fingers through the top of her hair, scratching lightly at the base of her skull before turning back toward the dressing room and sinking down onto one of the stools within it. Reaching beneath her feet, she dug through her purse for a peppermint and unwrapped it quickly, sucking it between her lips before releasing a heavy sigh and leaning into her wife's side.

"Nauseous?"

"A little, but I'm okay," she replied, her tone still low. Chocolate eyes fell to the corner of the room, where Dylan was sleeping peacefully, curled up on top of the blonde's coat and covered by a knit scarf. Santana's tongue flicked the circular candy around in her mouth several times before she tucked it back into her cheek to continue speaking. "Can you get me out of this?" Brittany nodded, supporting her wife's back as she stood and slowly unzipping the floor length dress, leaving kisses down the brunette's spine as more of her skin was uncovered.

"You probably ought to tell her sweetheart." The dancer slipped the fabric over slender hips, taking hold of the hanger behind them to hang the garment up as Santana pulled her jeans up goose-bumped legs. Allowing a rattling breath to fill her lungs, the smaller woman nodded once to her wife, and once more, as though she were convincing herself to bolster the confidence for her confession. With the issues she'd had conceiving, she felt no rush to inform everyone she knew of her pregnancy, as the chance of a miscarriage was a thought firmly planted in the back of her mind. She had an additional four weeks until the red flags slowly faded away, and her breathing would come more easily. Quinn's fist connected with the door, the pitch of her voice higher than usual as she requested that she be let in. Slipping her t-shirt over her head and nodding a third time, a caramel hand made contact with the knob, allowing the currently high-strung blonde to fall into the small space of the dressing room, holding two additional dresses.

"I found another style that I think you'll like," she exclaimed, holding a much shorter dress up to display it. Even on the hanger, her friends could tell it would cling much more tightly than the previous choice, and Brittany tugged on the hemline, feeling no give in the material. At the sudden intrusion, Dylan's eyes flickered open and her small, still curled fist stifled a yawn as she allowed her body to wake up.

"I won't be able to wear that," Santana said quietly, her eyes flickering to the left for reassurance from her wife while Quinn's face crumbled into confusion. The brunette felt the warmth of her wife's gentle smile reinforce the minimal fragments of buoyancy she possessed, and while watching her daughter rub at her eyes, she nodded a fourth, and last time before continuing. "I'll be six months pregnant for your wedding Q."

Brittany lunged forward to catch the two dresses the other blonde let slip from her fingers, hanging them up as her wife was enveloped into a tight embrace. Quinn clutched at the fabric covering her best friend's back, her silence giving way to sniffles that grew in volume the longer she clung to Santana. Pulling back slowly, she rested a chilled palm against the brunette's stomach before flickering her eyes upward and meeting a brilliant grin and soft gaze. "Oh god, I'm so happy for you both," she cooed, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her best friend's ear. "Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"I'm still in my first trimester. I've got four more weeks until we're out of the woods. I was going to wait until then, but –"

"But I went seven shades of Bridezilla on you," Quinn chuckled. "We'll keep the first dress then, okay? Is that one going to work all right?" Santana nodded, feeling the tension pour out of her limbs and sighing slightly as she covered the hand against her stomach with both of her own. "You're going to look absolutely beautiful sweetheart."

"I'm going to look like a whale," she automatically corrected, rolling her eyes playfully.

"An absolutely beautiful whale."

* * *

The television flickered in the dark, casting shadows against two pairs of eyes as animated characters sang songs about falling in love and the importance of friendship. Santana had an arm wrapped loosely around her daughter's upper back, gently stroking the ends of her hair while Dylan whimpered pitifully, her tiny fingers splayed across her mother's stomach. Plump lips enveloped the straw near them, and the brunette sucked down the last of the strawberry orange smoothie her wife had picked up in an effort to boost her immune system and protect her from the little girl's cold. Brittany entered the living room, armed with a sippie cup of apple juice with Dylan's liquid Tylenol skillfully hidden in a compartment beneath the lid; the cup had been an absolute life saver, as their child had apparently inherited Santana's dislike for any and all liquid medication, regardless of the flavor, or lack thereof. As the credits began rolling, Brittany attempted to lift the little girl from the cushions but Dylan staunchly refused to be removed from her position, buried in her other mother's side.

"I'll get her, sweetheart," Santana offered, nudging their daughter into a more manageable position. The tiny brunette wrapped her arms tightly around her mother's neck, nestling into the loose hair hanging over thin shoulders. "She's been clinging to me a lot lately. I think she can tell something is different, even if she doesn't quite understand what it is."

"You shouldn't be doing heavy lifting," Brittany refuted quickly as she tried to pry Dylan away from her wife, only to fail rather spectacularly a second time.

"She's just barely twenty five pounds, love, and carrying her from the living room to her bedroom isn't going to be the end of the world." One arm tucked beneath the little girl's backside and the other still slung around her back, Santana scooted forward slightly, readying her thighs for the shift in balance. She stood easily, folding their daughter more closely to her chest and sticking her tongue out playfully as she moved toward the nursery. The blonde followed behind, rubbing her temples with one hand as the other tightened its grip around the sippie cup. Passing the juice to her wife, she leaned against the changing table, feeling the fight drain out of her as the two women that held her heart proceeded through their bedtime routine. Tucking Dylan in, the older brunette ran her nails gently through her daughter's hair, humming the same Spanish lullabies she always had, watching as, eventually, long eyelashes fluttered closed and the little girl's breathing evened out, despite her earlier behavior. Mouth quirking to the side, Brittany allowed a serene smile to grace her lips as she absorbed the interactions, the familiar tug in her chest multiplying tenfold as she noticed her wife's actions seemed impossibly softer and somehow more intimate. Santana reached into the crib, lifting the sippie cup and grinning when she saw the medicine compartment was empty, though a small amount of apple juice remained. On autopilot, she pressed the baby monitor's power button and ran a hand across the blanket in Dylan's crib, smoothing it once more before crossing the room and exiting with her wife. They separated at the junction in their loft, with the blonde headed toward the kitchen to clean up quickly and set the coffee maker and her counterpart intent on straightening the living room after flicking the TV off. Yawning slightly, despite the early hour, Santana abandoned her tidying in favor of an oversized t-shirt and a soft mattress.

She was curled up beneath the sheets when she felt the bed dip and her wife slip in behind her, molding their bodies together and nestling their heads into a parallel position, cheek to cheek. "You can't always be doing things like that," Brittany admonished quietly, her breath tickling as it wrapped around the brunette's collarbones.

"Things like what?" Santana murmured sleepily, twisting her head to yawn again into her pillow.

"I come home from the studio every night to a delicious dinner, a beautiful, happy little girl, and a wife whose glow can be seen from across the city." Her fingers absentmindedly drew circles on the slightly rounded abdomen in front of her, leaving goose bumps in their wake. "How am I possibly supposed to function when I have to spend half of my time feeling bad for the rest of the world for not being as lucky as I am?" She felt the brunette's silent chuckle against her fingertips and hummed contentedly as Santana rotated in her arms.

"And just how lucky are you?" she whispered, their noses grazing one another and their lips just inches apart.

"I'm hoping I'll get just a little bit luckier." Brittany tilted just the slightest bit forward, brushing their mouths together before she felt her lower lip being swallowed and tugged on gently. "I thought you were tired," she teased, chuckling lightly when her wife shook her head and squeaked out a quiet sound to the contrary as caramel arms wrapped around her neck. She felt a smooth thigh slip between her own, lobbying for her own legs to separate as it pressed upward; complying quickly, the blonde managed to tuck a knee beneath Santana's hips, leaving their limbs akin to a ladder as a warm palm traveled from her neck down to her chest. "I love how much of yourself you give to our family."

The brunette scrunched her brow quizzically, but a dawn of realization fluttered over her not moments later. She began blazing a trail with her lips, shifting them from high cheekbones to a firm jawline and further downward, to a frantically beating pulse and freckled shoulders. "I love that you're carrying our child," she continued, feeling a small smile creep against her skin as her wife's mouth froze momentarily, "and I love how much closer it's brought us." Santana nodded beneath the blonde's chin as her hand slipped beneath a loosely fitted tank top, creeping upward until twin gasps escaped paired lips and the weight of Brittany's breast laid firmly in one of her wife's hands, her heart resting in the other. As the hand against her chest began kneading the flesh slowly, the dancer's sentences became disjointed rather quickly; a thumb skimmed a firm nipple, resulting in an arched back and a third confession accompanied by a sharp inhale. "I love when you talk to your stomach when you think I'm not listening."

The longwinded phrase took far longer than usual to express, and by the time the last words had escaped swollen lips, Santana's other hand had managed to sneak further south without her wife's notice. A single fingertip toyed with the elastic band settled against slender hips, tickling the skin beneath the lace. "I love," the brunette began, her hand snaking downward and meeting the warmth of their buildup, "how you never end a phone call without saying you love me, regardless of how busy you are or who is around." Her fingers sunk lower, teasing at Brittany's entrance before slipping inside and provoking a second mutual gasp. The blonde reached up, cajoling her wife's body toward her own, discontent until their abdomens were pressed against one another and Santana's cheek once again brushed against her freckles. "I love how you searched the city for soft peppermints, because you know I don't like the hard ones as much." As slow, steady motions built the twisting in her gut, Brittany clung just as tightly to her wife as their daughter had, yet still found herself unable to keep the smile from spreading across her features at the brunette's words. The smile quickly faded as her mouth dropped open; two slender fingers twisted within her, soon joined by a third, and Santana seemed intent on sinking in as deep as she could manage. "I love," she continued, her shortened breaths hitting her wife's ear in puffs, "the pureness of your heart."

"I love you," Brittany managed to push from her throat, as the muscles of her abdomen twitched against the brunette's. "I swear I've never loved you more," she whispered, turning her head to the side and pressing a drawn out kiss to a strained caramel neck as her fingernails dug into over-warmed flesh and her body arched upward. She shook mercilessly, the shocks flooding her in a way akin to waves crashing against the shore. When those breaks finally settled, leaving behind only the residual effects pulsing beneath her skin, she rotated their bodies, so she and Santana lay comfortably side by side once more, with little distance between them. "I'm really excited for your appointment tomorrow," she finally said, keeping her tone low as not to shatter the silence.

The slightest of grins tip-toed across the brunette's cheeks and she nodded, fondly remembering the first time they heard their daughter's heartbeat and marking it as one of the top five moments of her life. "I am too actually," she confessed, tucking her face bashfully into her pillow. "I can't wait to hear our little peanut."

"I can't wait to meet him or her," Brittany expounded, resuming the fingertip tracing she'd begun when she first slipped into bed. "Do you have a feeling of whether Peanut is a boy or girl? You knew with Dylan from the get-go."

Twisting her lips to the side, Santana shrugged before her eyes fluttered down to the nearly unnoticeable bump she boasted, watching as her wife's fingers made continuous treks beneath her t-shirt. "If there is a trend in our children, Peanut is definitely a boy." She chuckled as bright blues narrowed in confusion, the blonde's brow scrunching to complete the effect. "I haven't had morning sickness and I'm really not that tired. My boobs are a little sore, but nothing unmanageable and I haven't been too hormone-crazy, right? By that logic, our child is behaving in the womb, and thus, clearly must be a boy. Dylan was a hellion in utero," she explained, her gentle smile not faltering.

Brittany allowed the words to sink in, nodding slowly when she had finished processing and flattening her palm against the brunette's stomach. "Do you want a boy or a girl?"

"I just want a healthy, happy little one. If it's a boy and he wants to play full contact football – awesome; if he wants to play with Dylan's baby dolls and have tea parties – more power to him; if we have another little girl who wants to take karate and beat up other kids on the playground – she'll get grounded while I'll be secretly proud, but she'll always be loved; and if we have a little girl who refuses to wear anything but dresses and bows – okay then. I just want our child to be happy and healthy. If we can accomplish that, I think we've done well."

The dancer grinned and nodded her agreement before pulling Santana more closely to her body, capturing the warmth her wife emanated. "I think we've done well already, sweetheart. I think we've done pretty well."

* * *

**AN: A bit more fluff to combat the pregnant Brittany rumors, and the incessant lack of Brittana, and the hiatus that continues. Here I am just trying to keep the hope alive, haha. :) I hope you enjoyed, and as always, reviews are appreciated, just so I know what to work on. xx Aimee**


	38. Chapter 38: You Could Be A Vegan

"I don't know how you were so patient," the brunette grumbled, folding her legs up and onto the table and settling herself crisscross-applesauce as they had taught Dylan a few weeks prior. The little girl in question held two tongue depressors in her chubby fingers and was holding an animated conversation between the two Popsicle sticks, though the dialogue consisted of nothing more than mumbled, incomprehensible noises. "I want to know everything _now_," she continued, groaning slightly. "I want to know if it's a boy or girl. I want to know what foods our baby will like, and what college they will go to, and if they have an opinion on global warming and –"

"Mama?" Dylan called from the floor, shifting her attention from her stick figures' mumblings upward to her mother's rambling. Santana nodded, encouraging her daughter to speak again, a bubble of excitement building in her gut. The little girl, rather than opening her mouth however, pursed her lips together, lifted a single finger to her mouth and loudly shushed the older brunette before retrieving her discarded tongue depressor and rekindling its conversation. Chocolate eyes widened and the woman stared down at her daughter in disbelief before hearing a slight chuckle from just above Dylan's head.

"Britt, it's not funny," she chastised, folding her arms beneath her chest and huffing slightly.

"It's _kind of _funny."

"No, it's not." The little girl took this opportunity to send her mothers each a withering glare, one she'd learned from watching her mother converse with her Aunt Rachel on the phone before shushing them again, collectively. Brittany giggled again, tucking her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound but failing as her shoulders shook. "It's not," the brunette reiterated, though she couldn't fight the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

After two solid knocks and his customary ten second pause, their doctor entered the room with her file tucked underneath his arm and a wide, warm smile. "Well hello you three." A harmonized chorus of "Hey, Dr. J," met his ears, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened when he heard the smallest of the Lopez-Pierce family mimicking his nickname as her Popsicle people continued what seemed to be an elaborate dance contest on his exam room floor. "How've you been feeling Santana?"

"I've been good," she decided upon, "really good actually. I'm not too tired, and I haven't had any morning sickness. I get the occasional headache, but it isn't anything a nap doesn't normally fix." The doctor nodded with each description, scribbling into her file as she continued before instructing her to lie back and lift her feet into the stirrups.

Brittany immediately shifted in her seat, fixing her hands over Dylan's ears. "What the fuck is that?" she hissed, watching as what she prayed was a legitimate medical device was inserted between her wife's legs.

"It's an ultrasound wand," the man explained, chuckling slightly. "Her pregnancy is a bit riskier than yours was, given her difficulty conceiving, so we want to be able to hear the heartbeat today if possible. This gives us our best chance of that."

Santana wriggled uncomfortably, her features scrunched in annoyance. "You could at least get one that vibrates," she complained. "Give us a little something to look forward to."

"Something aside from your baby's heartbeat, you mean?" His grin widened impossibly as the repetitive fluttering sound tunneled the brunette's attention. Her left hand reached blindly outward, swimming in the air until warm fingers interlocked with her own. "It's strong and steady," Dr. Jameson announced, tapping at the screen with his free hand.

"Isn't there a heart rate wives' tale?" Santana prompted, hoping she might receive an inkling as to what to expect within the coming weeks. Her impatience had led her to perusing the internet mercilessly for anything that could give her a clue as to whether they were having another girl or if they would be sinking into the uncharted territory that was the male half of the human species. She'd come up dry for the most part, unable to bank on many of the myths she'd read into, given she had gained next to no weight and when asking her wife if "pregnancy had her looking better than ever," a direct quote from one of the sites she had been frequenting, the blonde replied with an ever diplomatic "you've become more beautiful every day since I met you."

"Yes," he nodded slowly but much like Brittany had before, he seemed unable to garner his professionalism, and another bubble of laughter sounded in his throat. "Your baby's heart rate will increase until about your twelfth week however, which is when that wives' tale applies. Just stick to the old wedding band maneuver until then," he teased with a wink. After slowly removing the wand, not without receiving a glare that could melt flesh from his patient, he hit a few more keys and the printer on the other side of the room purred to life. "Everything seems to be progressing as expected. Keep doing what you're doing, and I'll see you next month Santana. You have nothing to worry about," he soothed, rubbing her shoulder lightly as she sat up on the exam table. Crossing the room to grab the ultrasound photographs, he handed them off to Brittany and bent to ruffle Dylan's hair lightly before exiting the room and allowing Santana to change out of her hospital gown.

* * *

"Mija," the woman cooed, "Mama and I would really like you to use your potty." The little girl sat on top of her bright pink, miniature toilet with her arms crossed staunchly and an unwavering glower plastered to her cheeks. She shook her head before twisting so she wouldn't have to look toward her mother. Santana leaned back against the bathroom cabinets and rested her elbows on her thighs, unwilling to remove herself from her squatted position until that night's attempt at potty training was at least minimally successful. "You know, Rory uses a big girl potty," she tried, hoping the coaxing would add weight to her request. "Mama does too."

"And?" The single word replies were becoming tedious and quite frankly, the attitude her twenty month old was developing was unnerving, regardless of whether it held intention or not.

"And if you start using the big girl potty, we can take you to buy big girl panties like they have." Santana had held the Dora the Explorer underwear ace card in her back pocket for weeks; both women had been hoping that they wouldn't be reduced to bribery in order to cajole their daughter into being toilet trained so they could have at least a few months diaper free.

Dylan's mouth dropped open as her eyes widened; she was the picture of unhinged excitement before those same eyes narrowed slightly and she extended her closed fist to her mother. A tiny pinkie unfurled and with a serious tone, the little girl inquired as to Santana's honesty. "Pwomise?"

A caramel finger wrapped around Dylan's, and the older brunette nodded. "I pinkie promise." With their digits still connected, the toddler screwed her face up in concentration before both heard a sound akin to a choir of angels singing Hallelujah. "Britt!" The blonde skidded to a halt in the doorframe just seconds later, her eyes meeting two brilliantly beaming brunettes, one who looked as though the world had been lifted from her shoulders and one who was standing on their tile floor wiggling her butt in what would come to be known as the potty dance. Brittany joined in, singing a less than eloquent song about how proud they were of the little girl, unable to wipe her own smile from her cheeks. When they felt she'd been adequately praised, the blonde promised her three M&Ms before bed if she didn't fight Santana on her nightly bath, and with a second linking of pinkies, another deal was set into the works.

Lifting the little girl into the tub, the older brunette twisted the faucet and dipped her fingers into the stream of water to wait for it to warm up. "We're proud of you mija," she cooed, running her free hand through her daughter's bangs. "Mama and I love you very much."

"Thank you," Dylan replied easily as the water swirled around her toes. She focused her attention on her feet, wriggling them and intently watching the ripples her movements caused. Santana sighed, torn between feelings of upset and those of accomplishment. Their daughter very rarely forgot to say please when asking for something and it was an even rarer occurrence that she'd neglect to express her gratitude. The knowledge that her nearly two-year-old was extremely polite only soothed the gaping hole in her chest minimally; it was emotionally exhausting to hope for a return of her expressed love, and despite Dylan's growing verbal prowess, those three simple words seemed elusive in terms of a response. The little girl had conquered far stranger and more complex words, such as fireplace, which they heard repeated multiple times while they discussed their options for a new house, or a slightly butchered version of refrigerator. The child's inability to connect her feelings to those words sent red flags up for both women, but as per doctor's orders, they were feigning patience, and choosing to reward her for other phrases spoken, rather than mourning the lack of responses they'd prefer.

With a wan smile and a pat on the butt, Santana coaxed Dylan into sitting down and began steadily running a washcloth with lavender bath soap over the tiny frame in front of her. The little girl splashed occasionally, managing to earn a few chuckles from her mother, despite the flickering flame of frustration in her chest. Bath time had become less of a struggle as Dylan grew, and soon she was wrapped in a towel and being carried toward the kitchen to receive her three small pieces of chocolate. She munched happily, and both women decided a fight over brushing her teeth ought to be avoided, given the progress they'd made that night, so within the hour, the little girl was tucked into bed, holding tightly to the elf she'd refused to substitute since her first Christmas. "I love you mija," Santana whispered, brushing her daughter's hair back, "and I know you love us too, even if you can't find the words yet. We'll be patient."

* * *

"Not that I don't appreciate the view, but would you care to tell me what exactly you're doing?" As had come to be a regular occurrence, the position of the furniture in the living room had been altered slightly, and when Brittany had circled the couch, she found both her wife and daughter on their hands and knees, fixated on the television. Dylan abandoned her place next to the brunette when she heard her other mother enter the room however, and ran into outstretched arms, giggling as she was lifted into the air.

"I'm doing prenatal yoga," Santana offered, as if it were obvious.

"Of course," Brittany murmured. "Why hadn't I come to that conclusion first?" The brunette flipped over, settling onto the floor and pulling herself into a butterfly position. When she noticed the smoothie cup in her wife's hand, she wriggled her fingers, silently pleading for it to be brought toward her. Acquiescing to her request, the blonde crossed the living room as she chuckled before handing off the smoothie and mirroring Santana's position on the floor. "Did you have a good day sweetheart?"

The brunette nodded, sipping contentedly on the drink in her hand before responding. "I cleaned out the refrigerator, did a few loads of laundry, got my hair cut, went grocery shopping, and went through all of Dylan's old clothing to separate the obviously girly from the possibly unisex." Her eyes flickered upward and she scrunched her nose slightly as if reading an invisible to-do list directly above her head. "Yep, that's it."

A small smirk played against Brittany's features while she observed her wife's proud glow of accomplishment, and she leaned forward to kiss her softly before replying, the lilting tone in her voice emphasizing her teasing words. "Am I going to have to double check the ingredients in your vitamins?" she chuckled again, tilting the brunette's chin upward and scanning her eyes as if trying to deduce the reasoning behind her wife's latest spurt of energy.

Coaxing Dylan toward her from where the little girl was sat on the couch, Santana shrugged. "I just have all this energy that I need to funnel into _something_," she explained, wrapping her arms around their daughter once she'd plopped herself into the woman's lap. "I could become a QVC addict and spend my entire day ordering overpriced things that we don't need and will never use, or I could become obsessed with clipping coupons and fill our house with unnecessary amounts of shampoo and toilet paper."

"Even worse," Brittany teased, fitting her hands over Dylan's ears, "you could be a _vegan_." The last word was whispered and accompanied by a wink, and the brunette couldn't help but join in her wife's laughter as she rolled her eyes.

"Speaking of, I've got lasagna in the oven that I need to check on." Santana tickled the little girl settled on her legs until the toddler stood. "¿Quieres ayudarme con el queso mija?" With a frantic nod and a wide smile, Dylan ran toward the kitchen, waiting impatiently in the doorway until she was sure her mother was following her. The elder brunette leaned forward, brushing her lips against her wife's briefly before pulling away. "There's a half hour left on dinner. Why don't you take a quick shower, to get some of the soreness out of your muscles? I'll give you a massage later."

"Who said I'm sore?" the dancer protested quickly, though she bit back a groan as they both stood up.

"My newfound pregnancy intuition said so." Lifting onto the balls of her feet, Santana pressed their mouths together once more, lingering a bit longer than before until she heard frustrated feet stomping in their direction. Dylan had a bundle of fabric tucked in her arms, the strings dragging across the wood floor, and she thrust it upward, extending her arms to her mother. Chuckling, Brittany took hold of the material and slipped the apron over her wife's head, tying it loosely behind her back to prolong the moments the brunette was in her arms. She did the same to their daughter, who immediately grabbed Santana's hand and pulled her insistently toward the kitchen, eager as always to be allowed to help. As she watched them scurry away, the blonde couldn't help the lopsided grin that tugged at her cheeks or the warmth that filled her chest. Her good feeling hadn't yet faded, and she had every intention of clinging to it veraciously.

* * *

**AN: Hello loves, just a bit of fluff before tomorrow's episode return. :) The spoilers seem promising, but at this point, I know far better than to get my hopes up. As for this chapter, I haven't much to say, though a plot line has been subtly introduced, and will prompt a tug-at-your-heartstrings moment later on in the story. As always, any questions or comments are more than appreciated, and thank you for all of your extremely sweet words. :) **


	39. Chapter 39: Sour Patch Kid

"Not that I'm at all opposed to impromptu pow-wows of any sort, particularly when my presence is expressly demanded, but would you care to inform the three of us who seem to be out of the idiomatic loop why it is we are here?" The incessant blathering Santana's hormones found strangely endearing was interrupted by the barista passing their table, pausing briefly and inquiring as to whether they necessitated additional drinks. Rachel casually waved her off, but the other brunette quickly reached for the coffee shop girl's hand and nodded.

"Turkey and prosciutto Panini and a tall decaf mocha frap, right?" Santana nodded again, smiling brightly when the waitress winked at her, and her legs began impatiently jiggling beneath the table as she awaited her sandwich. She tapped the fingers on one hand against the three wrapped packages in her lap, enjoying the amused look on her best friend's face and the anticipation clearly displayed with three pairs of widened eyes – one green, one blue, and one nearly as dark as her own. Lighting her phone up, she swiped the thumb on her free hand across the screen quickly, scanning the text from her wife quickly and lifting her gaze to meet the only calm eyes within the storm of expectation, nodding a third time, far more subtly.

Bouncing Dylan twice on her lap, the youngest at the table began the interrogation without a moment's pause. "LP, how does the barista know what your order is exactly?"

"Santana, in light of your previous marital disputes, I would highly discourage flirting with the wait-staff. You have a child to think of, whose needs must be placed before your own, and I, for one – "

"Have you changed your moisturizing regimen? Because your skin looks –"

"Brittany, hi!" Quinn's overly perky chirp cut through her ex-girlfriend's soliloquy on the importance of honesty within the Sapphic domains, as well as ceasing Kurt's fingertips' travel through Santana's hair and softening the scrutinizing gaze Jordan held on the back of the barista's head. The second blonde smiled widely, lifting her hand in greeting as she crossed the small café, pulling a chair from an abandoned table and settling herself into the now squeezed-for-space four top boasting six adults. Brittany leaned into her wife's lips as soon as she'd hung her duffle bag on the back of her chair, pressing against them sweetly and pulling back with half-closed lids and an overwhelming air of contentment. Their haze flickered over the rest of the table, save for one insistently curious brunette, who seemed keen to have the couple divulge their reasoning behind this Friday night café meeting. Her attempts at voicing her disapproval of the trio's lack of knowledge was stunted once again by the barista settling Santana's order in front of her, chuckling at her squeal of elation. It was Jordan, however, who broke the silence for the second time, projecting her voice over her boss's near moans of appreciation.

"LP and other LP, if this is some screwed-up-a-couple-days-late April Fool's prank, luring us into thinking you have exciting news, I'm not having it." Her knees continued bobbling beneath her, bouncing Dylan over and over again to the toddler's chagrin. She sipped the final dredges of her tea while carefully observing the couple to her right, who were exchanging knowing looks, finally nodding jointly. Santana lifted the three wrapped gifts from her lap, handing one to each of the impatient people in front of her and smiling slightly when she noticed Quinn touching the ruby ring that lay on the fourth finger of her right hand. It was a habit she'd picked up just as Brittany fiddled with her necklace or Santana tugged on the infinity charm on her bracelet, and the ring engraved with Dylan's name, boasting her birthstone never left the blonde's right hand.

Looking around as her wife and their best friend shared one of their increasing in frequency _moments_, Brittany watched as Rachel attacked her wrapped gift with a veracity that rivaled that of a lion preying on a gazelle. Kurt sat, straight backed as always, slipping his perfectly buffed fingernails beneath the paper, in an attempt to preserve what he would later dub the sanctity of gift-giving. Jordan, on the other hand, chuckled as Dylan assisted her in opening her own present, dutifully ripping away pieces of paper and grinning wildly as though she'd done something to be proud of. It was, unsurprisingly enough to all involved, Rachel who first finished unwrapping her gift, lifting a copy of Oh, the Places You'll Go in front of her, dark eyes flashing with confusion.

"Open it," Santana giggled, waving her hand encouragingly and prompting her friend to flip the cover of the storybook open.

_Dear Aunt Rachel,  
Read this to me in October of 2020. I can't wait to meet you.  
Love,  
Baby Lopez-Pierce_

As the brunette's eyes welled up, Kurt and Jordan managed to uncover their own story books, one of fairy tales and one featuring Picasso as a little boy respectively, both bearing similar inscriptions on the inside cover. Brittany's hand sought out her wife's blindly, squeezing once when their fingers intertwined as they watched each of their friends process the news. Rachel, overdramatic as always, was silently weeping into a paper napkin, her eyes bright with tears and building delight. Kurt's expression was far more reserved, a small smile tugging at his lips as he traced the words within his story book. Jordan seemed incapable of finding a stronghold for her eyes, allowing them to flicker from the colored pages splayed across her lap, being palmed insistently by Dylan, to the little girl's curls, to her mothers, and finally right back to the book.

"I was totally kidding when I said you two had to have another," she whispered, tightening her grip on the toddler in her lap, "but I'm really, really excited that you are." Her cheeks cracked with a wide grin and the girlish squeal she emitted caught the attention of several other café patrons, but her focus was firmly planted on the blonde and brunette who sat tucked into one another, positively beaming.

"We know it may not necessarily be traditional, but we've never really done things by the book anyway," Brittany shrugged, carefully cajoling her friend's gazes toward her and her wife, "so we'd like all _three _of you to be godparents."

"This does not mean I'm babysitting for free every time."

"Your child will be the best dressed infant in Chicago. Rachel Zoe's son will be weeping with envy."

Ears perking up at her name, out of context though it had been, the petite brunette clenched her napkin tightly in a shaking fist before pushing back from the table. The legs of her chair screamed against the tiled floors, but she calmly exited the café with less than a glance back over her shoulder. "I'll go see about her," Santana offered, shifting to move from her own seat, but her wife's hand on her thigh pushed her gently back down, and the blonde instead rose to check on their friend. The other woman's outline could be seen through the window, despite the evening's dusk, and allowing the door to click shut behind her, Brittany chose to lean against the building's side silently, rather than prodding for information as to Rachel's speedy exit. The chill of the early April night air brushed past them, as did several pedestrians on the sidewalk, but the two remained soundless as the seconds ticked by. The blonde observed the flow of traffic before them, counting the seconds between each color change of the lights, from red to green to yellow. She was so focused on estimating the next shift that she nearly missed the quiet declaration of gratitude her friend offered. Rather than responding, Brittany slipped their hands together, and continued staring outward, watching the cars pass at steady intervals.

"I know I can be a bit much," Rachel continued, wrapping her free arm across her chest and cupping the dancer's bicep, "but I needed something like this. I am truly honored that you both trust me enough to allow me to have any sort of influence on your children, and – " She swallowed back the tears rebuilding in her chest, waiting for the lump in her throat to diminish before she spoke again, only with a reassuring squeeze on her fingers from her friend. "I'm just really lucky to be in your lives – in all of your lives – and I hope you know how much I love you Britt. You guys mean the absolute world to me."

"We love you too sweetheart," the blonde cooed, tilting her head slightly to rest it atop long dark waves. "You mean just as much to all of us."

* * *

"I'm seriously concerned that our child is going to come out green and coated in sugar," Brittany teased as she flipped the blinker on the Jeep and pulled into the driveway of the third house they would visit of the day. The brunette glared at her wife, but her slightly puckered mouth, courtesy of the Sour Patch Kids she'd spent the better part of a week sucking on, diminished the desired effect, and the dancer simply chuckled as she shifted into park. "I would love our baby anyway, for the record. We would just have to homeschool him or her, so no one tried to eat them before they got into second grade." She leaned over the console and molded their lips together before pulling away and licking off the residual sour crystals Santana's kisses left her with as of late.

Their real estate agent waved from the porch as both women slid out of the vehicle, their fingers intertwining immediately once their bodies were flush. Brittany nudged her wife gently, nodding in the direction of two small children playing in the front yard nearest them, as well as a woman briskly walking down the sidewalk, a stroller in front of her and a little girl following on a bicycle with training wheels. The door opened before them, and Anna, the agent they had been assigned, ushered them in, chuckling when she noticed the brunette's inability to pull her eyes away from the picturesque scenes behind her.

"It's a very family friendly neighborhood," she noted, nodding her approval and squeezing Brittany's hand just that much more tightly.

"It's mostly younger couples," Anna added, smiling brightly. "We just sold a house down the street to another expecting couple. They'll be having a little boy in September." Placing her hand squarely between Santana's shoulders, the agent led the couple through the beginning of the home's open floor plan. She pointed out a fireplace, provoking an arched eyebrow from the brunette, who immediately recalled their anniversary trip a year and a half prior, while the spacious dark wood kitchen had Brittany bouncing on the balls of her feet. Having felt their hope diminish with each unsuccessful house tour, the four bedrooms won the women over, the deep Jacuzzi tub dotted the I's on their approval, and the sprawling backyard, complete with an in-ground pool crossed the T's of hesitation.

"We could fence it in," the blonde offered quietly, noting the caramel hand that protectively covered her wife's lower abdomen.

"We could also build a tree house with a slide directly into the pool," Santana chuckled, remembering the dancer's dream of living in a home of a similar fashion. Blue eyes crinkled at the corners, flashing mischievously and matching her slight grin. Both turned to take in the large area before them, imagining swing sets and sandboxes and flashlight games of hide-and-seek.

"Can we afford it?" The question sat firmly against a pale skinned chest, suffocating the burgeoning hope flaring beneath her skin.

"It's at the upper end of our price range," Santana acquiesced, "but we could make it work." Brittany's eyebrows furrowed slightly, her innate reaction one of distaste; the sourness in her mouth was no longer caused by her wife's candy cravings, but instead from a roaring anxiety in her gut. They had agreed years ago to live well within their means so finances would never be a stressor that held the opportunity to push, pull, and rip at the delicate, though elaborate embroidery that was the fabric of their marriage. Sensing the blonde's hesitation, Santana sent a congenial smile in the direction of their agent, before politely requesting a moment for them to discuss their options. The woman nodded just as courteously, leaving the couple alone on the deck, whereupon the brunette reached for her wife's quivering hands, grounding them both.

"I'll pick up more commercial projects in town," she offered. "I can open myself up to more portrait work, because there is less travel and it's far more reliable. We'll be just fine, love." The blonde bore into Santana's eyes, searching for signs of flickering disappointment, but finding nothing but sincerity, promise, and a twinkle of excitement. "This house is perfect," she continued, hoping to steady the pale, shaking fingers within her grip. "We can raise our family here. We can have cheesy neighborhood barbecues and drive the kindergarten carpool and teach Dylan how to swim in our own backyard. We can sip lemonade on our front porch and roast marshmallows in our fireplace and build thousands of memories _right here_." With each of the last two words, Santana tugged on her wife's hands, smiling brightly as she allowed her imagination to flutter in each and every direction. "I'm willing to take a few thousand yearbook photos if it means we can have those memories." She moved their twined fingers to her stomach, lifting her gaze through her eyelashes before continuing. "I'm willing to do anything if it means our _children _will have those memories. One day, that's all they're going to have left." Her voice had dropped to a whisper as she finished her speech, and she let out a grateful sigh when Brittany wrapped her in strong arms, nodding against the top of dark hair.

"Okay," she replied in the same low tone. "Let's make an offer." Santana squealed against her chest, allowing unhindered giggles to fall over her lips.

"We're going to buy a house," the brunette whispered, tilting onto the balls of her feet to press their lips together.

"We're going to buy a house."

* * *

**AN: A bit shorter than I prefer uploading, but an update all the same! I figured rather than struggling through an additional segment, it would be wiser on my part to keep the chapter as it was, as it's a fair enough ending, and not a terrible cliffhanger. Bless the hearts of you still watching, as I'm struggling to do the same, particularly with the (spoiler alert) Quinntana rumors floating around. A little left field in my opinion, and by a little, I mean quite a lot. Haha.**

**I do hope you enjoyed, and as always, I love to hear back from you all. Try and keep the hope alive! xx Aimee**


	40. Chapter 40: The Box Ate My Jeans

"Sweetheart, do you know where my black blazer is?" Brittany furiously dug through the myriad of boxes coating every surface of their bedroom floor, having only successfully found her nude heels and teal blouse through a combination of sheer determination and a sprinkling of luck.

"Try the box labeled _Outerwear: Anything fancier than a hoodie, excluding winter coats_." The brunette recalled the previous disaster as far as her packing skills were concerned, a littering of unlabeled boxes covering the floor of her first apartment. It had taken her nearly a week to locate her underwear that time, and while she wouldn't be at all opposed to the same situation repeating itself, she'd elected to feign responsibility, correctly labeling each cardboard box with near anal specificity. Capping the bottle of moisturizer in her hand, she walked into her bedroom to find her wife, wearing not much more than her bra and heels, in a heated stare-off with one particular box, simply enough labeled "jeans."

"What's wrong love?" Santana cooed, sliding her cool palms, still slick with lotion, up a bare, freckled back. The blonde slumped slightly when her wife's thumbs dug into the muscles between her shoulders, and she whimpered pitifully, as though she were wholly distressed with the state of the world, and had just been informed that the fate of humanity rested in her fingertips.

"The box says jeans, but it lies. The jeans I want to wear aren't in there. The box ate my jeans Santana!"

The brunette couldn't help the chuckle that bubbled in her chest, but tried to combat it with additional intimacy. Her hands ran down her wife's arms before circling her midsection, and she leaned into the bare skin before her. "Your jeans are on the bed Britt-Britt." She pressed a kiss against the freckle beneath the dancer's shoulder blade before releasing her, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm going to go and get Dylan ready, okay? Breathe, beautiful, just breathe."

* * *

Through some miracle, the three women of the Lopez-Pierce clan were downstairs with fifteen minutes to spare, fastening the youngest into her car seat while they waited for Quinn to make an appearance. In a blur of green, the fourth member of their group was soon buckled into her seat and tickling her goddaughter's stomach as they pulled away from the curb. The car ride was silent save for Brittany's incessant finger tapping and her wife's occasional admonishments, as their best friend and daughter vehemently ignored them, opting to enjoy several rounds of "I've got your nose," in the backseat, with Dylan gasping each time Quinn allegedly stole the body part, pressing her hands insistently to her face, as if double checking that the space between her eyes had not been compromised by her godmother's thievery.

Despite their early arrival, nearly an hour before the performances were slated to begin, the hall's parking lot was half full already, and upon entering the backstage area, the women found Brittany's dancers maneuvering themselves in a semblance of well-choreographed, if chaotic mayhem. Santana pressed a quick kiss to her wife's cheek before wishing her luck, intent on finding their seats well before the house lights went down and managing to keep themselves out from underfoot. As the brunette pivoted around however, Dylan screeched, collecting the attention of everyone within fifty feet of them. Three pairs of eyes widened, unsure of what to do with what seemed to be the child's first legitimate temper tantrum.

"Terrible two's, here we come," Santana muttered, rocking the toddler gently on her hip and running a hand over the back of her soft curls. "Mija, what's wrong? We have to go sit down so we can watch Jessie and everybody else dance."

A hiccup was the only shift in her vocal patterns, quieting down slightly before returning to her original decibel level. "I want Mama," she screamed, relatively unphased both by the scene she was causing and the expression of utter horror splayed across her parents' faces.

"Mama has to work, Lisita," the brunette cooed, bouncing lightly from side to side. "You need to come and sit with Mami and Nanny Q." Unaccustomed to being denied her requests, Dylan continued sobbing into her mother's hair, despite Santana's attempts at calming her.

"I'll take her," Brittany finally offered, seeing no other currently tangible option. "There will be another instructor on my side of the stage, and we should be able to manage." Chocolate eyes narrowed but a desecrating wail had her head bobbling in agreement without her expressed consent. "She'll just disrupt the people around you three, and I don't want to put that kind of stress on you right now, okay? I'll make it work." She lifted the little girl from her wife's arms, her heart melting when small arms wrapped around her neck. Santana pressed an additional kiss to each of their cheeks, whispering out a declaration of love before looping her arm through Quinn's and turning toward the exit. She didn't walk away quickly enough to avoid her daughter's response, a quiet "thank you" that ripped at the muscles in her chest and left her squeezing her best friend's bicep tightly to quell the threatening tears. The pair circled the auditorium, handing their reserved ticket stubs to an usher upon reaching the front door. The vice-like grip on the blonde's arm was painful, but she remained quiet as Santana followed the young man to their seats. Sinking into the plush cushioning, both women adjusted their clothing as they shifted into more comfortable positions, though Quinn noted how her best friend's hands made continuous paths over the fabric covering her stomach.

A conflicting myriad of emotions rushed through the photographer's bloodstream, a combination of memories ranging from Brittany's numerous showcases and the worry that came with residing in the audience without control, to the nervous butterflies that would flood her frame before her own performances, and finally, though she fought hard against it, to the clenching of her chest each time her "I love you's" were met with no more than gratitude. Of all the trouble they'd had handling Dylan's less than linear development, the current roadblock far outweighed delayed speech and burgeoning early onset attitude problems in Santana's mind.

"Has she ever said it back?" Dark eyes flashed dangerously, but a deep breath calmed the fire and brimstone building beneath her irises as she turned to Quinn with an eyebrow arched and her intertwined fingers resting calmly over her abdomen. "Has she ever said 'I love you too' to either of you when you say it first?" The unnecessary expansion of the question fanned the flames, bringing them back to a roar before a cool bucket of water was thrown over her temper once again.

"Mrs. Withers!" Santana exclaimed, a wide smiling pressing into her cheeks as she easily drew from the acting facilities that originally garnered the woman in question's interest. "Thank you for coming."

"I brought a few colleagues," the woman smiled congenially. "I didn't think you'd mind. It seems they all have quite an interest in Miss Allen. I appreciate you informing me of her impending graduation."

"The better to scout with, right?" the brunette chuckled, extending her arm for the four new occupants to settle into their own seats. She found herself ignoring the piercing glare she felt against the left half of her face as well as tuning out the professional rumblings of internship positions and off-Broadway productions she heard to her right. Fishing her phone out of her purse, her thumbs flew across the screen as she sent a quick text message to her wife, informing her of the woman's presence and inquiring as to the disposition of their daughter.

_You are incredible! I didn't even think to invite Linda. I'll let Jess know. Dylan is sitting with her now, doing butterfly stretches on the floor. xx B_

Santana jolted slightly when her phone buzzed again in her palm and stifled a giggle when she opened the picture she'd received, seeing the toddler's face scrunched in concentration, much like her mother's did, as she attempted to mimic the older girl's positioning. The house lights dimmed above them, and she locked her phone, tucking it between her legs. The brunette felt Quinn's hand rest against her knee, squeezing gently as the auditorium darkened further. Covering cream soda fingers with caramel, Santana let her gaze flicker, meeting barely visible hazel, soft around the corners. "No, she hasn't said it back yet."

Pinching her lips together, the blonde flipped her hand over beneath her best friend's and held tightly. "I know she loves you both," she assured Santana.

Scarcely audible over the curtains rushing, the squeak of the pulleys, and the thunderous applause, the photographer whispered out a response, a confession more for her own benefit than that of her friend's. "I hope so, Lucy Q. I hope with everything I am."

* * *

"I can't do it Britt," the girl whispered, her eyes shining in the dim light of the wings. Jessica bit her bottom lip as she fidgeted in front of her teacher, bouncing from one foot to the other, landing each sauté with a perfect coupe, despite her protests. "My whole future basically depends on this performance, and I don't want to let him down."

The blonde stepped forward, closing the gap between her own body and her student's, feeling Dylan's grip on her pants leg tighten as she instinctively followed her mother. She cupped the younger woman's cheek, her words rushed as she noted the current number was nearly halfway completed. "You are ready. You can do this, and you will be incredible." Blue eyes flickered uncertainly, and Brittany continued on. "Forget about the people in the audience. Dance the way you do when it's just the three of us in the studio. He is going to be so proud of his big sister." Nodding once to steady herself, Jessica pivoted and refocused her attention toward the stage, marking the movements of her solo in silence. She felt a tug on the bottom of her skirt and twisted back around, a small smile playing on her lips when she caught sight of tiny black ballet shoes and a bright red sundress.

"Good luck," Dylan whispered once the older girl had squatted to the toddler's level, mimicking her Mami's earlier words to her other mother. The nerve wracked blonde opened her arms, feeling a rush of confidence flood her chest when short arms folded around her neck and squeezed tightly. "Dance pretty." Jess nodded before standing up, steadying her breath and staring resolutely ahead as the performance before her own came to a close. When the stage had emptied, she walked out into the darkness as she had hundreds of times, jiggling her hands at her sides to rid her body of some of the nervous energy.

Brittany gestured to the men next to her, and light flooded the stage as a slow back beat built throughout the auditorium.

_There's so much craziness surrounding me,  
There's so much going on it gets hard to breathe  
When all my faith has gone, you bring it back to me,  
You make it real for me_

Having seen bits and pieces of Jessica's final performance, the brunette in the audience nudged the woman next to her, who in turn informed her companions that this was the piece they had come to see. The blonde onstage was fluidity and grace personified, her limbs capturing the rasp of the artist's voice and molding it as she moved. Her motions were precise, but held a liquid quality, and chocolate eyes flickered to the right to see the men a few feet away nodding in approval.

_When I'm not sure of my priorities,  
When I've lost sight of where I'm meant to be  
And like holy water washing over me,  
You make it real for me_

Santana recalled the many nights her wife would come home, emotionally spent from helping her student fine tune the choreography she now bore witness to. There had been more times than not that Brittany would fall apart in strong caramel arms, reliving the stories Jessica told her of her younger brother, those of his personal triumphs, of the difficulties he'd had in school, and perhaps the most heart wrenching, the ones detailing the relationship they'd garnered, despite his occasional inability to communicate.

_Everybody's talking in words I don't understand,  
You've got to be the only one who knows just who I am  
And you're shining in the distance,  
I hope I can make it through  
'Cause the only place that I want to be is right back home with you_

Momentarily caught up in her own memories, Santana hadn't noticed the girl on stage fall out of a combination of turns during the chorus, hitting the floor hard. The murmuring in the audience buzzed in the brunette's ears, and she felt Quinn's grip on her hand tighten marginally. It didn't seem that Jessica was making any plans to return to her feet, from either embarrassment or injury, or possibly an amalgamation of the two.

"Oh shit." Santana twisted in her seat, studying her best friend's face carefully, noting the wide eyes and slack jaw, before the blonde burst into laughter. Returning her gaze to the stage, she watched a second figure run across the stage, approaching the dancer and tugging insistently at her hand as the music continued playing.

_I guess there's so much more I have to learn,  
But if you're here with me, I know which way to turn  
You always give me somewhere, somewhere I can run,  
You make it real for me_

"Only my child," the photographer groaned, rolling her eyes as her laughter soon mixed in the air with Quinn's. The lawyer pulled her phone from her pocket, recording the scene while Santana lifted her own, taking picture after picture of the pair onstage. Despite the obvious tear stains against her cheeks, Jessica stood slowly, not letting Dylan's hand slip from her own. The toddler smiled brightly and began a simple set of tendus and plies, grinning when the older girl followed her lead. Hearing the chorus build up for the last time, intertwined fingers separated, and Jessica began her turn segment once again, landing it cleanly while the sundress clad child spun in her own circles, oblivious to the reaction of the audience before her. As the last lyric was drawn out, the tall blonde scooped Dylan into her arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek and asking her to wave to everyone before they walked back toward the wings, where Brittany stood, laughing hysterically over the roar of the audience.

"Your two year old saved my butt," the dancer said, holding back her own giggles as she bounced the little girl on her hip.

Shaking her head good naturedly, the older blonde opened her arms, folding her daughter into them and kissing her forehead. "Let's just hope Santana got that on video. I'll be disappointed otherwise." Jessica nodded, falling silent as her expression shifted slightly. "You did well sweetheart," Brittany continued. "Any school or company would be lucky to have you." The girl shrugged, seemingly unconvinced, and her teacher wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Can I tell you a story? I quit dancing for several years when I was just a little younger than you are now." She hadn't received a response from Jessica, but began her recollection without pause. "My dad passed away when I was fourteen, and I pulled out of all of my classes the day after his funeral. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Santana. She gave me the strength to go back, and once I did, she applied to Columbia on my behalf. There's always a way honey."

Twisting her lips, the girl considered the story, and immediately opened her mouth to protest. "But I screwed up Britt – big time!"

"If it's what you want to do, we'll figure out a way for you to do it. I refuse to let you give up on your dreams, just like Santana refused to let me give up on mine. There is _always _a way Jess." The younger blonde's demeanor brightened minimally and she flashed Brittany a wan smile. "Now go get changed! You still have the finale to do!"

* * *

"Miss Allen?" The blonde twisted on the spot, meeting the warm gaze of a tall young man in a charcoal suit. A little boy clung tightly to her hand, slipping behind her body to watch the interaction from a removed stance. "Miss Allen, I'd like to speak to you." Extending her hand, she shook firmly, appreciating the alluring accent the man boasted, though not loosening the grip she had on the other hand in her grasp, that of her little brother. "My name is Brody Weston, and I'm currently working as a representative on behalf of Wilde Production Company. A colleague of mine has known your teacher for quite a while, and invited me to your performance."

"It's incredibly kind of you to have made time in your schedule," she replied uneasily, thankful for the hand in her own tethering her body to the tangible world. "I apologize that you hadn't much to see."

Brody scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and studying her carefully. "On the contrary, I felt there was quite a lot to see. I am scouting dancers for a movie currently in pre-production, and I'd like to fly you to Los Angeles for an audition." Blue eyes widened comically, and the man chuckled at the response, anticipated though it was. "One of the lead characters has a young daughter, and we've yet to find someone who fits the profile and is capable of working with children. West coast dancers can be a bit stuck up."

"Are you serious? This legitimately cannot be happ-"

"I'm serious," he cut her off, slipping a business card out of his pocket and into her free hand. "I am extremely serious. I sent along the video Miss Fabray took of you and your teacher's daughter, and my higher ups are interested. I'd appreciate an answer by next Wednesday." Jessica nodded dumbly, unable to form coherent thoughts, much less verbalize them. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

When she finally found herself able to peel her eyes away from the card in her shaking hands, she looked upward, meeting blue eyes very similar to her own. "Don't say it," the younger girl grinned.

"Don't say what? I told you so?"

"Lisita!" Both blonde turned toward the voice echoing through the backstage area, and locked eyes with Santana, whose arms were wide open and cajoling her daughter toward them. "You were so good on the big stage!" she cooed as she lifted Dylan into the air. "Mami is very proud of you."

"Thank you," the little girl smiled before burying her face in the brunette's curls. "Jess did good too," she whispered into her mother's neck, clinging just a bit more tightly.

"Jess did very well mija," she reiterated, altering the sentence's grammar slightly, "you're right." Tucking a stray curl behind her daughter's ear, Santana turned to the young dancer, a brilliant smile on her face. "I heard Brody had an offer for you. Are you going to take it?"

Stealing a peek backward, Jessica heaved out a sigh before shrugging noncommittally. "I don't really want to leave Jason for that long. We've got to stick together, don't we little man?" The boy, who looked to be no older than seven, nodded against her side, keeping his eyes fixated on his older sister. "Besides, I don't know anyone out there –"

"We know a few people," Brittany chuckled. "A girl we went to high school with has been in LA recording since we graduated. We could talk to her – see about having her look out for you."

"I'll have to talk to my parents about it too. They weren't happy with the idea of me deferring from college in the first place, so –"

"Just let us know," Santana finally determined. "No pressure either way Jess." The dancer nodded, cupping her hand around the back of her younger brother's head and smiling as she walked away. Brittany mirrored her student's motions, wrapping her arm around her wife's waist and pressing a kiss against her temple. She felt the brunette lean out of the embrace, and her forehead instinctively wrinkled in confusion. A single caramel finger was held up as her eyes shifted before she chuckled. "We need to find a bathroom."

"Mami, now," Dylan insisted emphatically, wriggling uneasily in her mother's arms. Thankful for the announcement, Santana's gaze traveled to meet the blonde's, who rolled her eyes at her immediate insecurity and quickly led her family through the backstage area, towards an abandoned dressing room. Stripping the toddler down, Brittany lifted Dylan and placed her on top of the toilet seat, which the little girl eyed warily. "I want my potty," she griped, holding tight to the edges of the foreign device.

"Sweetheart, we don't have your potty, so this has to be your potty for right now." After a stare-down that lasted several seconds, both women sighed in relief as their daughter gave in, shifting uncomfortably on the seat. Before the blonde had a chance to lift her, the automatic flush went off, and blue eyes went wide before filling with tears. Brittany hurriedly removed the little girl from her perch, but as she pulled Dylan toward her, the half-naked toddler ran out of the bathroom and wrapped herself around Santana's legs, hiding behind jean-clad calves.

"I hate the potty."

The photographer twisted around and squatted before her daughter, pulling the child into her chest. "That potty was a mean potty," she agreed, rubbing Dylan's back soothingly, "but not all potties are mean."

"I hate the potty," the tiny brunette repeated. "No more potties." Each word managed to drip with disdain, and rather than continue an argument with her nearly two-year-old, Santana fell silent, allowing her eyes to flutter shut as she let out a hefty sigh. Brittany handed her wife the Pull-Ups and leggings their child had been wearing, and once dressed, the three headed home in a car filled with one part anger, two parts frustration, and just a dash of hopelessness.

* * *

Santana made sure to set her keys in the bowl nearest their front door more quietly than usual as her wife carefully navigated through the boxes filling their loft with a passed out twenty month old in her arms. Rather than rouse Dylan, Brittany settled her into her crib, flicking the baby monitor on and combating the dim lighting of the room with a small lamp on a side table, on the off chance their daughter woke up. She ran her fingers through the top of her hair, not bothering to stifle a yawn as she slugged toward the women's bedroom, flipping her heels off one at a time and tossing her jacket into the dirty clothing hamper.

"I'm really proud of you," she heard over her shoulder as she slipped off her jeans. Twisting on the spot, she found her wife smiling at her gently as she rubbed cocoa butter over her stomach, her yoga pants set low on her hips to avoid the lotion. "The showcase was wonderful, love." Rinsing her hands in the sink, the brunette pulled her tank top down from where it was bunched beneath her breasts, straining the fabric as it covered the developing bump.

"Thank you," Brittany whispered, a light flush coating her cheekbones as she momentarily tucked her chin to her chest, opting to slip her blouse over her head and crawl beneath the covers rather than search through the boxes littering their floor. She was joined soon after by an extremely affectionate Santana, who curled into her, pressing their bodies flush against one another. She felt lingering kisses pressed to her neck, and long eyelashes fluttered shut, appreciating the devotion after weeks of stress-filled rehearsals and very little sleep. The slow, soft motions were dedicatedly chaste, an act of attentiveness rather than a preface for something more, and quite simply, the blonde was thankful that the warmth wouldn't transform into heat.

"You're exhausted," Santana hushed out, her tone low enough not to disrupt the stillness in their bedroom. She ran her fingers through her wife's hair, feeling Brittany's head bobble with each stroke. "Go to sleep." The baby monitor crackled with a snuffle, but she repeated her words once more when the blonde's head immediately perked back up at the sound. With a second crackle, the beginning traces of tears were heard, and Santana leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her wife's forehead. "She's fine. I'll go get her. You, darling, need to sleep." Nodding despite the protests she felt bubbling in her throat, Brittany's head fell to the pillows and she felt the sheets being pulled up and over her shoulders. The brunette slipped from their bed, padding lightly toward their now far more vocal daughter.

"I pottied," Dylan whispered pitifully when her mother made an appearance in her doorway. "I sorry Mami."

"Oh, mija. It's okay baby girl. It happens," she cooed, crossing the room to lift her child from her crib. "We'll get you changed and you can go right back to sleep." Placing the little girl on the ground, Dylan reached for Santana's pinkie as they made their way to the bathroom, both blinking against the harsh light for several seconds before their eyes adjusted. Stripping the littlest Lopez-Pierce of her clothing, a new pair of Pull-Ups were applied and the older brunette decided to change her daughter into pajamas while she was still awake.

"Mami?" Dylan mumbled as she lifted her hands above her head to help her mother slip a new t-shirt on. "I sleep with you?"

"Of course mija," Santana nodded. "You can sleep with Mama and me." She struggled to keep the tears at bay as she tugged the little girl's pajama pants on before lifting her into the strong caramel arms Dylan had learned to trust. As they crawled back into bed, the photographer smiled as her daughter curled against her and her wife molded herself into her back. Brittany blindly reached over, tucking both of them into her embrace and sighing contentedly when her arm captured them both. "Good night little one," Santana whispered as her eyelids drooped. "I love you."

Nuzzling further into her mother's neck, Dylan nodded, her tiny puffs of air coating the brunette's collarbone in warmth. "Me too Mami," she replied before her body was once more overcome with sleep and she was ignorant of soft smile against Santana's cheeks and the tears reappearing in her eyes. It was progress after all, and that was all they could ever hope for.

* * *

**AN: I had originally planned on having this up a few days ago, but I got a bit carried away, and thus, you guys got a much longer chapter. Haha. I could have cut it off much earlier than I did, but I wasn't happy with the lack of interaction between Britt and Santana, so I opted to continue. As always, I do hope you enjoyed it! Let me know either way, haha. xx Aimee**

**And for those of you wondering, the song is You Make It Real by James Morrison. He has an absolutely gorgeous voice, and you should check him out!**


	41. Chapter 41: Prepare Yourselves

"She has a clipboard. I didn't sign up for a clipboard."

"Hush," the petite blonde admonished. "You signed up for a day of helping your friend, clipboard or not."

"What in the world could she need a clipboard for?"

"I'm sure Santana feels she cannot appropriately delegate without the prestige that is allotted to those utilizing every day office items in an effort to demonstrate power."

"_Wanky_," the brunette in question murmured as she passed the group in her kitchen, furiously scrawling against the sheets of paper before her. "Kurt, are you wearing comfortable shoes?" She paused, flicking her bangs out of her eyes before continuing. "I don't even know why I asked that. Twinkletoes," she began again, "are you wearing shoes with a heel less than three inches tall?"

"As per your orders Boss Lady." While Kurt stood before her in two and three quarter inch heeled boots, his button down perfectly pressed and his ascot jauntily tied beneath his chin, the four others looked every inch the dividing line between a group of hipsters and one of homeless individuals. Puck's jeans were slung low on his hips and his sister had spent the better part of five minutes absentmindedly sticking a finger in and out of the holes on the shoulder of his t-shirt while she brainstormed. Andy had reverted to his collegiate uniform, one of flannel button downs and paint splattered cargo shorts, leaving Santana's nose permanently wrinkled in disdain. Quinn and Rachel, however, had managed to look presentable in their best friend's eyes, though that seemed to be in large part due to three things: sinfully tight shorts, a slightly exposed abdomen, and the pregnant brunette's raging hormones.

Glancing down at her clipboard once again, she nodded to herself a few times before meeting her friends' steady gazes. "We got the go-ahead to move into our house earlier this week, so you four," she gestures with the end of her pen to the quartet clad in worn clothing, "are going to be moving the boxes downstairs and to the new house. I rented three U-Haul trucks, and that should be more than enough to get everything out. Any and all lesbian jokes must be made out of earshot, because I cannot and will not be held responsible for my reaction to them." Puck's mouth clamped shut immediately, and he sheepishly shifted his eyes to his feet. "Kurt is going to stay with me, to run a few errands," she continued, ignoring the grunt of protest from her brother and the questions sent Quinn's way from Andy. "Tomorrow, Ikea will be shipping over the rest of the furniture, and we'll be able to go from there." The blonde nodded, running her hand along her fiancé's back to quiet him before smiling softly at her best friend. "And Quinn, I'll need you to abandon Thing One, Thing Two, and Babs right around twelve, because I need you to make a trip with me this afternoon. We'll bring you guys some lunch when we come back, okay?" The promise of food quelled Puck's uninterrupted fussiness, and she grinned, tilting up on the balls of her feet to press a kiss to his cheek. "If you both are good, I'll pick up some beer as well. And," she drew out before clapping her hands once, "break!"

Santana watched approvingly as her friends all moved to action, the men each grabbing a box and shuffling out of the front door, with only the guarantee of wings and possibly alcohol fueling their motions; Rachel tailed them, barking out statistics in relation to lower back safety and the importance of using their legs while lifting. Quinn lifted her cup of tea to her lips, sipping once before setting it on the edge of the bare counter. She took in furiously flickering chocolate eyes as they scanned the clipboard once more. "S, what do you need me for at lunchtime?" she quietly asked, twisting to ensure that the boys hadn't made a reappearance.

"I have an ultrasound that can't be rescheduled, and Britt can't make it because of the summer workshop," she admitted, tucking her to-do list closely to her chest. "If you wouldn't mind –"

"Of course I'll come," Quinn whispered, a shy smile teasing at her cheeks as she tucked her friend's bangs behind her ear. "Seeing your unborn child is ten thousand times more fun than dealing with those two trying to out-man one another," she chuckled, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Andy and Puck who were both struggling with extremely heavy loads, unwilling to collaborate and save themselves days of back pain. "Where do you have to go with Kurt though?" Santana lifted the hem of her shirt, showing unclasped jean shorts, finagled together with a rubber band looped around the button. Her stomach protruded slightly, though the loose shirts she'd been donning as of late had hidden the developing bump. Cool palms cupped the sides of her abdomen, and Quinn cooed unintelligible words toward her best friend's bare torso.

"Who better to make me look like the pulled together MILF that I am than Twinkletoes himself?" the brunette offered with a nonchalant shrug. "It's finally time to give in to the maternity clothes, but I refuse to look frumpy, which is where Kurt comes in." The blonde nodded, still smiling brightly as she lovingly readjusted her best friend's shirt, taking care to cover the makeshift fastening.

"Then I'll see you two later," she announced, twisting on her spot and batting at Noah with her hands, prompting him to drop the large box he was barely holding on to as it was. It firmly hit the top of his foot and both women giggled when he yelped, causing Lola to run across the loft looking for safety beneath the dining room table. "You," she pointed at the hazel eyed man, "and you," she gestured again, this time to her fiancé, "are going to get over this macho man bullshit and carry the box down _together_. Come on, let's go!" Muttering beneath their breath and rolling their eyes, neither was happy with the arrangement, but preferred it to an afternoon of Quinn's incessant blathering about the nature of their immaturity.

Santana looped her arm through Kurt's as the other three exited the apartment, two holding the edges of a box and the third directing them down the stairs, leaning into his side affectionately. "The hormones have done some work on you, haven't they?" he observed, arching an eyebrow and raking his gaze over her body language. "So what am I in for today? I'll assume that torturing a playground of kindergarteners or kicking puppies is now out of the question."

Suddenly bashful, the brunette ducked her chin to her chest as they begin their descent, pulling her cardigan around herself like a makeshift shield from her friend's judgment. "Myclsedntft," she mumbled, and Kurt nudged her gently, encouraging her to repeat herself more clearly. Coughing as though to clear her throat, she elected to begin again, expounding on her original statement. "My clothes don't fit anymore, and I wanted to know if you would help me."

His perfectly manicured eyebrow lifted again, but a wide smile accompanied it. "You'll be the best dressed Mama Bear in the Midwest. I assure you."

* * *

Dr. Jameson knocked twice, as per habit, before sticking his head in the door and spotting Quinn seated on the stool nearest the exam table. "I'm sorry; I must have the wrong room ma'am. Excuse me."

"Santana just ran to the bathroom," she replied easily, licking the tip of a finger and flicking a page of her magazine over. "You've got the right room, just the wrong blonde." She lifted her gaze from the Cosmopolitan in her lap and sent a congenial smile toward the flustered doctor before extending her hand in introduction. "Quinn Fabray," she stated in as matter-of-fact a manner as any. "I'm Dylan's godmother. I'm assuming you were expecting Britt, but she's teaching a workshop this week, and wasn't able to get out of it for the appointment."

"Dear God, Lucy Q. I swear my child has made it a point to sit directly on top of my bladder. This is ridiculous." Without noticing the presence of a third person in the exam room, Santana hopped back onto the exam table, letting out a frustrated sigh before running a hand over her stomach as she cooed toward it. "I love you and everything sweetheart, and you've been really nice to me so far, but Mami would appreciate if you could find another organ to use for your pillow."

"Our newest little Lopez-Pierce might actually be using your bladder as a footstool instead," Dr. Jameson chuckled, finally garnering his patient's attention. "Why don't you lay back for me and we'll find out?" The brunette reached out for a hand to grip as she lifted her shirt so it bunched beneath her breasts. She felt Quinn intertwine their fingers, but the familiar jolt of warmth didn't creep up her arm as it had every other time she was preparing herself for an ultrasound. She clenched her eyes tightly shut and tilted her head back slightly, hoping to cajole the tears back into her skull before sniffling slightly, refusing to lift her eyelids until she was expressly directed to do so.

"Hey beautiful," she heard from her left, where she logically knew her best friend sat, rather than her wife. She shook her head, convincing herself that the sound was merely hallucinations she'd concocted, built from desperate hopes that somehow, some way, Brittany would be able to make the appointment. "I'm really here," the voice continued, and Santana managed to peel her eyelashes apart, despite the tears that had clumped them together. "The students are on a five minute break, so I got Q to video call me," she explained, chuckling along with her wife as the brunette let out a relieved giggle, her eyes scanning the screen that boasted her wife's face. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to do this without me." Santana nodded to their doctor, indicating that she was ready, and her grip tightened on the fingers clasped within her own. Quinn managed to angle the tablet in her free hand so that Brittany could see the ultrasound screen as Dr. Jameson maneuvered the wand, pointing out the fetus's fingers and toes, finally settling it on the heartbeat.

"It's still strong and steady," he smiled, watching as his patient's chest concaved, releasing a held breath. "Do you all want to know the sex?" Pushing her sweaty bangs from her face, Brittany grinned, waiting for her wife to give her consent as well. It came in a tiny puff of air, a barely audible _okay_, and he moved the wand once more, focusing more clearly on the torso of their unborn child. Twisting over his shoulder, he pointed directly at one spot on the screen, his smile widening. "Prepare yourselves ladies. You've got yourselves a little boy." Despite her initial gratefulness at being informed of her child's health and well-being, Santana's mind took off like a runaway train.

We become accustomed to what we know, to what we've experienced. Anything that strays from that familiarity shocks our system, jolting our nerves and leaving us with sweaty palms, palpitating ventricles, and an unconscious haze that buzzes between our ears. We're told from a young age that we can be anything we want to be, that we can do anything we want to do, but society comes crashing in like the unforgiving waves tsunamis bring, sending us to our knees, praying for breath. It knocks those expectations and aspirations we hold for ourselves out cold, until the last dredges of hope dwindle from our veins and we realize that we've been lied to. We come to an understanding as far as the inner workings of the world go – we can be who we want and do what we want, yes, but within reason. We can push against the parameters set, but the majority of society will push back with just as much force, reminding us of our place. If it doesn't push, it will pull us in, before setting boundaries to dictate our movements once progress has been made, to discourage others from the fight. It comes again and again, in those tsunamic waves, with each tide changing its dedication.

While Dylan's conception had Santana questioning her ability as a mother, the child she'd spent the last twenty weeks and four days protecting, nurturing, and worrying after had her seriously doubting her ability to raise a son. In the ragtag family she and Brittany had acquired, there were only three men: one of whom was more feminine than most teenaged girls, another who lived hours away, and a third who would likely soon be starting his own family. She couldn't tangibly fathom how they would find the capabilities within themselves to adequately provide all that their son would need.

"Baby?" The tone was slightly panicked and effectively pulled Santana from her cyclical thought processes, focusing her attention. "I have to get back to class, but we'll talk tonight, okay?" The brunette nodded meekly, flashing her wife a wan smile and receiving a far more confident one in response. The reassurance washing over her from the blonde's steady gaze calmed her frayed nerves somewhat and she wiggled her fingers in parting before the video call ended.

"Do you want a print out?" Santana nodded again, this time dumbly, as though inept at controlling her own motions and tightened her grip on Quinn's hand, despite the other woman's attempts at having her fingers released. After Dr. Jameson handed her the single sheet of paper, he exited the room with no more than his own nod, noting the growing tension level in the room.

"Thank you for coming with me," the brunette finally spoke, determined not to meet her friend's probing hazel eyes as she wiped off her stomach.

"You two are more than capable of raising a little boy, S."

"Do you think Puck would keep Dylan tonight?"

"It's probably easier than raising a girl, honestly," she continued, wrenching her hand loose and carefully slipping her tablet into her purse as the Santana sat up, readjusting her shirt.

"Did you call in the wing order for the guys?"

Quinn sighed, realizing that no progress would be made until her friend had worked through the myriad of thoughts brewing beneath her dark waves, and knowing inherently that only Brittany could help her sort through that cataclysmic storm of doubt. "I remembered Rachel's salad too."

* * *

Brittany's arm automatically reached to the left to deposit her keys in the bamboo bowl that had sat beside her front door for the past eight years, starting slightly when her purse too hit the ground, rather than the table she was familiar with. She squatted to pick up the unintentionally discarded items, and took note of the level of disarray her home was in, still littered in boxes, and yet eerily silent. "Santana?" The only light shining through the darkness was that of the light above the stove, and knowing her wife's penchant for snacking as of late, the blonde following the only clue she had to the woman's whereabouts. She found the kitchen empty however, as were the bedrooms, save for more unpacked boxes and a solitary mattress hastily dressed in their new sheets. She journeyed back toward the front of their home, a niggling of worry building in her gut until she noticed the porch light in the backyard was lit as well; sliding the doors open, she stepped onto the deck, relishing in the light summer breeze playing against her over warmed, over worried cheeks. "Santana?"

The brunette in question sat at the edge of their pool, her legs dipped into the not yet perfectly calculated chemical water. Without turning around, she beckoned Brittany toward her and the dancer complied, pulling up the elastic bands of her sweatpants before mirroring her wife's position, their feet shifting beneath the surface, causing ripples to echo around them. The blonde felt the corner of her mouth perk when she noticed that each of their motions allowed the ripples to combine, not compete, and that realization made her first words easier. "We can do this," she whispered, covering Santana's hand with her own, hoping the warmth would melt the ice she felt radiating off of her wife's body.

"What do we know about little boys, Britt?" the brunette replied.

"Tommy loves you," she countered quickly. "He always has. Besides, what is there to _know_?"

"We can't teach him how to throw a football, or how to handle when his voice changes, or how to change the oil in a car."

Chuckling slightly, the dancer nodded in agreement, squeezing the hand in her own before rebuffing the argument. "We can teach him how to be a gentleman. We can teach him how to walk, talk, read, and write. We can teach him how to be compassionate, and how to love with everything he has. We can teach him to be understanding of other's differences and how to dance, so he can impress girls." Santana breathed out a laugh despite herself, leaning into the blonde's side and nuzzling closer when an arm wrapped around her shoulders. "We'll be able to teach him the most important things, because those don't rely on gender sweetheart. Puck can teach him to throw a football, but we'll teach him how to be a real man – a man that we're proud to call our son." The brunette nodded against Brittany's shoulder, feeling the steadily crashing waves pull back until they were gently lapping at her ankles.

"Do you want to go swimming?"

Thinking back to the numerous boxes sprawling across the majority of their new home, the blonde wrinkled her nose. "By the time we find our swimsuits, it'll be next Wednesday," she joked. Santana crossed her arms over her stomach, pinching the hem of her shirt between her fingers before lifting the fabric over her head; her dark eyes twinkled mischievously and she couldn't help but giggle when her wife's eyes went wide as she slipped her hands behind her back and unclasped her bra. "This works for me," Brittany agreed, lifting her calves from the water and standing slowly to shed her own clothing before promptly diving in. Blue eyes scanned every inch of skin as it was exposed before Santana slipped off of the edge and into the sun warmed water. "You had to use a rubber band to button your shorts this morning?"

"Hush you," the brunette admonished, propelling herself toward her wife with one swift kick off of the side of the pool. "I'm carrying your future offspring. You aren't allowed to tease me about my weight gain."

"I'm not teasing honey," the other woman cooed in response, catching Santana when she was near enough. She folded long, caramel legs around her waist, grinning when they locked at the small of her back and the only space between them was that occupied by their baby boy. "You've never looked more beautiful."

"You're biased."

"In the best way possible," Brittany rebuffed immediately, cupping her wife's cheek and bringing their mouths more closely together. She smiled into the kiss as the firm, rounded bump pressed against her own stomach, and she was reminded of what they were doing and just how far they had come. In less than two months, their daughter would celebrate her second birthday. Two weeks prior to that, their best friend would be getting married, and even before that, she herself would turn twenty six. Life has a way of sneaking up on you, surprising you when you least expect it. Days, weeks, even months sometimes, seem to drag on, but looking back, the years fly by as if no more than seconds. We don't notice changes within ourselves or the people around us until there is a jolt. There is a sudden epiphany that you've grown, changed, and somehow managed to miss both of those things while slugging through the day-to-day. It's spectacularly hard to remain in the present, to notice the laugh lines forming around your lover's eyes or to remember that each moment is one that you will never regain or relive. Just as that, it's even easier to get caught up in the movement around us, the spinning colors, curving smiles, and rushed conversations. It's easy to forget about dreams we possess or goals we've set, and it's easy to allow life to get in the way of love.

Santana lifted her hand from the water, silently watching as droplets moved from her fingertips, down the length of her palm and toward her wrist before she pressed her thumb against her wife's cheekbone. "I love you," she whispered, running the solitary digit back and forth over the constellational freckles against porcelain skin, "and I am so thankful that you are the one I get to experience life with."

Moving her hand to the nape of the brunette's neck, Brittany toyed with the curls there before replying, pressing their cheeks against one another, and smiling against the other woman's ear. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

**AN: I haven't read through this chapter just yet to edit it, so I apologize for inconsistencies, grammatical/typing errors, and all that jazz. I'll read through it when I have a moment, and reupload it then. We have a sizeable story arc coming up soon, in addition to the many smaller arcs already in the works. Just to keep the timeline clear, Santana is about halfway through her pregnancy, and it is early June of 2012.**

**To the guest who asked about Britt's relationship with her dad, I plan on working that in relatively soon, rather than answering directly. But in relation to your specific question, no. Her dad was not like Holly in the slightest.**

**As stated in the chapter, we have Dylan's birthday coming up, as well as the impending Quandy nuptials (Faberry shippers, I assure you that you will be tossed a bone here, and there will be interaction prior to the ceremony). One story line that has been in the works for ages will come to a head within the next few chapters, towards the end of Santana's pregnancy, and as said before, there's an arc I'll be beginning shortly that will span lengthily.**

**If you guys have any questions, never hesitate to ask, because I'll do my best to get back to you as soon as possible, particularly if you message me. Here's hoping that you enjoyed! xx Aimee**


	42. Chapter 42: What's In Your Tummy?

"Lesberry, why should we trust you to put together an entertainment center if you couldn't handle a coffee table?"

Brittany swiped the back of her hand beneath her nose, grimacing at the collection of beaded sweat there. She shifted her gaze from the other side of the room, where Puck and Rachel had spent much of their time bickering, to the task at hand, twisting her wrist several times to secure the last of the screws into the coffee table in question. Leaning back, she grinned with accomplishment, silently congratulating herself with a long swig of wine before standing to check on her wife. Her nose scrunched as she tapped her foot on the ground, frustrated with the uncomfortable jolts extending upward from her toes as she regained feeling in the limb. The wooden floors creaked beneath her as she moved down the hallway, and she silently took notes on which floorboards sounded under her weight as she shifted. The further she traveled, the easier she found it to lose herself in the nuances of their home. She gingerly trailed her fingertips against the walls as she passed them, envisioning family portraits spattering the warm toned expanses. She tucked her head into the doorway of the second room, noting appreciatively that Andy had successfully recreated their daughter's bedroom at the loft, save for a singular new addition of a small bed. Ideally, they could have Dylan settled happily into the piece of furniture before the arrival of her younger brother, saving them the cost of buying another crib, but in that moment, she was content with the recreation their friend had offered.

Both Brittany and her wife had expressed major concerns with the impact the relocation could have on their daughter, and had elected to keep at least that one fragment of their lives identical. The cherry blossom tree was painstakingly painted onto their walls once again, and it was as if they'd managed to clone the little girl's room to perfection. Through the window, open to air out the lingering fetidness of the paint, the blonde heard Lola's excited barks in the backyard, floating toward her in perfect harmony with Dylan and Jordan's laughter and the toddler's occasional shouts of "boo!"

Transcending those sensations however, calm humming fluttered into the room, washing over Brittany and gently lapping at her ears. The steady, sure notes were akin to a Siren's call, and her limbs responded accordingly; she began moving towards the sound as though an invisible rope had been tied to her sternum and wrapped around her heart. With each note floating through the air in an intricate dance the blonde had yet learned the choreography to she felt the rope tugged, yanking her toward the end of hallway, though she could not find it in herself to disobey the cajoling. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the large bay window at the back of the room she entered, washing the floors in golden light and refracting in slivers against the tranquility stilling the air. The notes continued, familiar though just out of reach, and they settled happily into Brittany's muscles as she leaned her weight against the frame of the door.

It's a miracle in and of itself to refuse to become accustomed to things. People brush it off as an inability to change, but in certain arenas, it becomes a skill. We shouldn't be accustomed to love, to laughter, or to unhindered, intangible, unbelievable beauty. It's those sorts of things that we should drink in, allowing it to fuzzy our brains like a vintage wine; it's those sorts of things that are forever transforming, revolutionizing the world we exist within. It's far too simple to meander through life without taking note of those things around us; it's become second nature to smile in response to a child's excitement, rather than relish in it. Those serendipitous moments are the most precious, and consequently, with the fast paced lives we live, the first to be discarded. We should sit down and appreciate a light spring breeze and an early morning coffee. We should focus ourselves on the setting sun and rising moon and sprinkling of constellations, welcome and celebrate all that they donate to the world while asking for naught in return. We have to reprogram ourselves and our thinking and our routines to simply take a moment for all that is, and drink until we're drunk from it.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" she smiled out, her tone low, as though speaking too loudly could disrupt the cocoon surrounding her. Santana grinned over her shoulder, the expression gentle despite the beaming quality it held. "What are you singing?" Her movements slowed as she entered the room, each step seeming as though it wrote centuries of history as her bare feet connected with the dark wood below them. Rather than a verbal answer, the brunette gestured in front of her, to a large canvas set on the ground, splayed with the words that fit the familiar notes Brittany couldn't place earlier.

"I'm painting another," the brunette whispered, pointing across the room to a currently empty canvas of the same size, "to go in Dylan's room. It'll have the chorus instead." She unfurled her legs, allowing them to fall in a haphazard straddle around the edges of the stretched-tight material, beginning the song a third time, her words soft as their wings struggled against the comfortably still air.

_Your little hand's wrapped around my finger  
And it's so quiet in the world tonight_

The dancer slowly sunk toward the floor, mimicking her wife's position and molding their bodies together as Santana continued singing, one hand resting on the top of her stomach, the other flowing easily against the rough fabric beneath the tip of her paint brush.

_Your little eyelids flutter 'cause you're dreaming  
So I tuck you in, turn on your favorite night light_

It was a culmination of their past and present, all of it intertwined in just a few penned words. It was a hope for the years to come, as well as a reminder of those they'd experienced already. Brittany felt a smile tug at her cheeks as her wife continued singing, recalling the nights she'd spend fighting sleep just to hear the brunette murmuring lullabies to Dylan in the very beginning. It had all fluttered by so quickly, as if each blink of her eyelids spanned the length of a month. Neither woman had ever appreciated the velocity of their time as parents, enjoying every moment though not realizing how quickly those moments added up to years.

_To you everything's funny, you've got nothing to regret  
I'd give all I have, honey, if you could stay like that_

The blonde leaned forward, allowing her eyelids to flutter shut as her cheek rested parallel to a slick-with-sweat shoulder blade. Her arms lazily encircled her wife's growing abdomen, and Santana's voice rang clear through the room as she continued, the only other sounds available to the pair being the scratching of the paintbrush against the nearly completed canvas. It was these small moments that Brittany knew she would have to learn to appreciate, to lock away tight in the back of her mind for the years when their house was empty and felt just a bit too quiet. She knew her wife had been doing just that, taking mental pictures as she floated through their life together, but she hadn't yet realized the importance of doing that for her own.

Photographs, the tangible kind that weighted boxes in dusty attics, were beautiful, and served a purpose, but they couldn't always rekindle the tug in your stomach, the flutters of excitement, or unbridled happiness. They couldn't encompass the burnt smell of your first attempt at stir fry, the perfume or cologne your lover applied before every date, or the burning of wood in a fire pit during a just bearable winter evening. Brittany noticed that when printed, these photographs flattened, just as it seemed they would; mental pictures were four, five, or six dimensional, and still held all of their previous integrity, so long as you made a conscious effort for them to do so.

Dylan's laughter echoed through this room as well, swathing both women in a sense of pride as they coated themselves in the knowledge of their daughter's verbalized happiness. Santana shifted her weight slightly, tilting her head back over her shoulder to share a beaming smile with her wife, only to have their trance broken by several clicks from the doorway. "I started unpacking some of the boxes in your bedroom," Quinn said from the doorway, clinging tightly to the digital camera in her hands. "Your clothing is hung up, but I left the box labeled _Ex-say Oys-tay_ for you to deal with."

"Wise decision Lucy Q," the brunette chuckled, feeling her wife's face heat up against her back, a flush no doubt creeping up her cheeks. "Have you guys decided on what you want for dinner yet? As soon as I finish this, I can start cooking."

The blonde smiled, slowly lowering the camera as she spoke, though her grip didn't slacken. "The boys are in the backyard, fighting over the proper way to light a barbecue pit. Assuming one of them sets aside their pride, dinner is covered." Crossing the room, she set the device down on a rocking chair in the corner and leaned against the wall to peer outside. "Dylan seems like she's taking this all in stride surprisingly well. I figured we'd get at least one major temper tantrum before the boxes even left the loft yesterday."

Santana nodded, though she didn't look up from her canvas, eyes scanning the careful brush strokes for any flaws. "We said goodbye to each and every room in the loft, and assured her that all of the furniture would be coming with us. We've been prepping her for a few weeks," Brittany explained on their behalf, running her fingers up her wife's free arm as she spoke. "I think having all of you here helped too. Even if it's a new environment, it's all the people she's used to seeing in her home."

"It's easier now that we can explain everything to her and know that she understands to some degree," the brunette continued, smiling down at her work, thoroughly pleased. "If we give her time to prepare in her own way, transitioning to anything is a lot easier." It had taken both women a long time to determine a system that worked for their family, but they were developing coping mechanisms both for themselves and for their daughter. It was a one-day-at-a-time plan of action, but if it worked for the time being, neither of the women felt any need for reassessment.

Quinn nodded, still watching her goddaughter run after her puppy in the backyard, arms thrown to the side and her mouth wide open as she laughed. "Have you told her about her little brother to be?" The other blonde quickly shook her head, squinting her eyes at the thought of that future conversation.

"She knows something is going on, but we haven't talked to her about it yet." Dylan, despite her socialization issues, had become very in tune with her mother, picking up on nuances even Brittany occasionally had difficulty with. She didn't possess the verbal faculties of an adult, and perhaps therein lay her strength. Not long after they discovered the photographer had successfully conceived, their daughter had begun carefully resting a palm against her mother's abdomen when they sat snuggled together on the couch; she'd done the very same thing even earlier, situating her hand over Santana's heart when the older brunette was visibly stressed or anxious. The toddler was attuned to Santana's quirks, and all they could do was send prayers skyward that the news would be well received. "It'll be soon." The brunette tapped Brittany's thigh, silently indicating that she was ready to stand, having finished her work. She folded her legs beneath her, rising with ease and extending her hands to help her wife to her feet as well. All three saw a flash of brown and blue fly past the doorway, careening down the hall without pause before a hissed "shitake mushrooms," was uttered, leaving the trio wide eyed and chuckling. Santana moved first, following the interruption, with the other two following closely behind. Turning the corner, she found Jordan panting heavily as she leaned up against the bathroom counter, while Dylan sat perched on her potty, a slightly devious grin etched into her cheeks.

"M&M?" she questioned, extending her hand palm up to her mother when she noted the older brunette's presence. Brittany burst into laughter, heading back toward the kitchen to retrieve her daughter's reward while Santana coated the little girl in praise and their babysitter tried desperately to catch her breath. It wasn't until the photographer arched an eyebrow in Jordan's direction that she received an explanation for the haste with which they were moving.

"Your kid all of a sudden grabbed her crotch and yelled 'Jojo! Potty, now!' I didn't feel it was in my best interest to casually stroll back toward the house," the girl huffed, running her fingers through her bangs as she spoke and narrowing her eyes in Santana's direction when the woman unsuccessfully attempted to hold in her giggles. "I'm enjoying these diaper free months just as much as you are LP." Brittany reappeared in the doorway, holding three small pieces of chocolate in her hand, and she waited for Dylan to be properly cleaned up before shifting the candy from her own grip to her daughter's tiny palm.

"Thank you Mama," she replied promptly, beaming up at the four women surrounding her. As she happily munched on the M&Ms, she twisted her hips left, right, and then left again to watch her skirt swish around her knees, oblivious to the doting stares she was receiving. Santana bent down, lifting the little girl onto her hip as she stood, waving off her best friend's initial protests.

"She weighs next to nothing Q," she reminded the blonde before turning back to her daughter and tickling her stomach. "Let's go find Uncle Puck. How's that sound mija?" Dylan nodded enthusiastically, intent to return outside and resume the seemingly never-ending game of chase she'd begun playing with Lola after lunch.

With all six adults now outside, Jordan finally had a moment to sit down, happily accepting the glass of wine she was offered as she sunk into a patio chair. The remains of the day's sunlight beat down on her bare legs, now sore from running after the unnaturally energetic toddler who'd stolen her heart. Shifting her gaze from the little girl's game to her mothers, her brain automatically battled between allowing her chest to swell with affection for the couple, or sink when noting that the other members of the barbecue were paired up as well. Brittany had Santana wrapped in her arms as they kept a watchful eye on their daughter, the protective hand the blonde had against her wife's stomach resting as though it could think of no other place to be. Andy, having given up on the battle for his manhood, had his fiancée settled onto his lap, scrolling through the last minute wedding details they had to confirm. Despite their incessant bickering, Jordan watched as Puck wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulders, pulling her toward his chest when he noticed her inability to tear her eyes away from the previous pair. It's one of the greatest ironies of the human condition that we can be surrounded by people, be them strangers or our closest loved ones, and still feel spectacularly lonely, yet at times, when alone, we feel as though we're surrounded by the warmth of the world. Tucking her legs closely against her chest, Jordan drained much of her wine before setting it down on the ground beside her and nestling her chin on top of her knees.

"Slow down tiger," Puck chuckled, tilting the bottle over her glass and refilling it. "Britt and Santana will kick my ass if I get their babysitter wasted before dinner." Letting out a weak laugh of her own, she gestured for him to sit at the end of the chaise, and he settled down comfortably, crossing one foot over his other leg and readjusting his aviators. "What's got you hitting the pinot so hard?"

Jordan twisted her mouth to the side as she considered her words and a thumb nail found itself wedged tightly between her teeth as she thought, a habit she'd no doubt garnered from her boss, who'd yet to be able to break the habit. "It's hard being 'the babysitter' sometimes," she finally offered, unintentionally using Puck's words against him. "It's hard being around happy couples all the time when I'm like, depressingly single." Her eyes flittered back toward the two pairs she'd been watching intently not minutes before.

"So we find you a dude."

"Noah, if you sleep with my babysitter, que Dios me ayude –" Brittany's arms tightened around her wife's body and she pressed a single kiss to the brunette's bare shoulder, thankfully silencing her.

"A friend of ours from high school has a little brother who's a good kid. He's at Adler, studying psychology." Jordan arched a single eyebrow, encouraging the man in front of her to continue. "I could talk to Sam about bringing Stevie to the wedding. I'm down with playing matchmaker."

"You'd do that?" she asked tentatively, waiting for a catch at the end of Puck's offer.

Lifting his beer from the ground and handing the college student her still full glass of wine, he toasted her, clinking the two together before winking. "I may be Santana's brother, but I'm not all bad."

* * *

"Are you finished with your breakfast sweetheart?" Dylan nodded, spoon still in her mouth, and held up her empty bowl as an example. Unsurprisingly, the toddler had developed a strong affinity for Greek yogurt, due in large part, both women believed, to the copious amounts of the substance the blonde had consumed while pregnant. "Can you go find Mami for me then? I have to go to work soon." Dropping the spoon from between her lips, the little girl took off down the hallway, sliding in her socks as she reached her mothers' bedroom. Finding the bed empty, she snuck towards the bathroom, the floorboards creaking beneath her tiny feet.

"Boo!" A viewing the week before of Monster's Inc. had led Dylan to frequently attempting to scare anyone and everyone she could, their dog included.

Santana placed a hand over her heart, feigning surprise with wide eyes and a mouth shaped must like the fifteenth letter of the alphabet. "Goodness mija, you scared me!" The toddler giggled delightedly for several moments, proud of herself for accomplishing her morning's mission, before fastening her attention more solidly on her mother. Santana in turn couldn't hide the smile her daughter's laughter prompted, rolling her eyes at her reflection in the mirror when she caught glimpse of her own lopsided grin. Removing the towel from around her head, she shook out her wet hair, gathering it afterward into a messy bun and deciding to deal with it later. "Watch out baby girl," she advised, placing her palm against Dylan's cheek and shifting her daughter's positioning in order to open the top drawer of the bathroom cabinet. She retrieved a half empty bottle of cocoa butter, popping the top open and lifting her tank top.

"Babe?" Brittany entered the bedroom in an effort to determine the location of her keys, but quickly forgot about her search when taking in the sight before her. She unlocked her phone, raising it to take a photograph before she was noticed. Captured within the few square inches of her screen was her wife, dedicatedly slathering her stomach with lotion as she did every morning and night; just beside her, however, was Dylan, her own shirt pulled up, the hem of it tucked beneath her chin. The little girl's face was set into confusion as she stared down at her abdomen, running her hands in circles over the skin as if trying to discover her mother's preoccupation with the motions. Frustrated, she lifted her head up, effectively releasing her held-hostage tank top, and reached upward, desperately trying to touch Santana's developing bump. "Babe?" Brittany repeated, a laugh catching in her throat as she spoke.

Pulled from her ministrations, the brunette finally noticed her daughter's incessant grappling at her stomach and the amused expression the woman in the doorway boasted. "Your keys are on the coffee table," she offered patting Dylan's butt once to scoot her out of the bathroom before crossing the room herself and pressing her mouth firmly against her wife's. "You also look really hot today," she husked as she pulled away, tickling her fingertips beneath Brittany's waistband. Clad in low slung sweats and a cropped t-shirt that had gotten into an unfortunate accident with a pair of scissors after they graduated, the blonde looked as beautiful as she had their first day of college. A caramel hand stilled as Santana took in the barely noticeable laugh lines framing her wife's blue eyes which were currently flashing dangerously, a tangible reminder of the years they had spent learning one another.

"I'll be late," she whispered, though her words held no true weight and her protests seemed merely obligatory.

"Your students will understand if you felt the need to do your warm ups at home," the brunette pressed on, her fingers slipping further downward, to cup a quickly warming center. Leaning in, she brushed her lips against the dancer's neck, allowing her free hand to snake upward and beneath the t-shirt, massaging the blonde's chest gently. "Do you want me to stop?" Her tone was low, almost predatory, and it was all that Brittany could manage to squeak out a no and shake her head viciously from side to side. Given the go-ahead, Santana sucked gently beneath her wife's ear before forgoing any further teasing and slipping knuckle deep within her. The gasps that escaped their throats simultaneously mingled in the air, still warm from the brunette's earlier shower, as she relentlessly worked Brittany toward a precarious edge. She was dominant in a way she hadn't been in months, and the glint of determination in chocolate eyes weakened the other woman's knees, making her thankful for the wall she was pressed up against, keeping her steady. Santana's lips found their partners, molding together and making it impossible for more than a strangled, fractured _hmph_ to escape the blonde's throat as her hips canted forward of their own accord and her thighs quivered against her wife's. A buzzing filtered between her ears as she shook violently in the photographer's embrace and she eventually disconnected their tongues and teeth in order to repeatedly whisper out her lover's name as if it were a hymnal.

"Happy birthday love," Santana cooed as the dancer regained her mental faculties, the fuzziness she felt building within her body slowly fading away. The brunette tilted up on the balls of her feet, pressing, given the circumstances, an incredibly chaste kiss against the corner of her wife's mouth.

"Can it be my birthday every morning?" Brittany teased, flashing a mischievous, if lazy grin.

"Nope," the other woman chuckled, shaking her head and playfully rolling her eyes, "but I fully intend on spoiling you for the rest of this one. I can't do that if you don't get your cute ass to work though." She slapped her wife's backside, much as she had their daughter's not long before, essentially pushing her out of the bathroom and down the hallway.

Grabbing her duffle bag and retrieving her keys from the coffee table, the blonde flipped around and pulled Santana in for a last, lingering kiss. "I love you. I'll see you tonight." The other woman nodded, smiling far past the time the front door shut, the ignition in Brittany's car was started, and she'd driven away. It wasn't until Dylan reappeared, her expression as solemn as a two year old could manage, that she was tethered back to reality.

"What's wrong mija?" Santana inquired, immediately squatting down to meet her daughter's level. "Are you okay?" The little girl shook her head, holding back tears that cascaded over her eyelashes once the older brunette had pulled the toddler into her arms. "Sweetheart, I need you to talk to Mami. I can't help if you don't tell me why you're upset. I need you to use your words." Dylan pulled back slightly, scrunching up her features as if determining how to word the issue that had clearly enough rocked her world. The photographer waited as patiently as she could, but the tear tracks down her daughter's cheeks left a sinking feeling in her stomach and an unbearable ache in her chest.

"Mami, what's in your tummy?"

* * *

**AN: Happy Valentine's Day loves. :) I wanted to get this out to you today, in honors of the anniversary of Heart and all of the splendor that came with in and in light of tonight's episode, which I think we all know will not hold the same mushy, gushy feelings for our fandom. In typical fashion, I do apologize for the time period between updates, but I live in Louisiana, and it was Mardi Gras, so I don't feel I should be held too accountable this time. Haha. **

**As always, I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear back from you. :) xx Aimee**


	43. Chapter 43: Little Bruffer

"¿Qué dijo mija?" Santana remained squatting, reaching out to brush a few tears from her daughter's cheek as she awaited a response, hoping she'd heard incorrectly. Her free hand instinctively floated toward her abdomen, but she fought against the movement, awkwardly repositioning her palm against her thigh.

"Nanny Q talks." The older brunette's eyebrows drew together, wrinkling in the center as she tried to decipher Dylan's attempt at an explanation, though both of them seemed to be becoming quickly frustrated with the verbal block between them. "Her talks to your tummy. What's in it?" As if to physically illustrate her point, therein avoiding any further miscommunications, she lifted her shirt and pointed at her bare stomach before gesturing toward her mother's. Instead of acquiescing to her daughter's request, Santana stood, extending her pinkie toward the little girl before leading them around the couch; sinking into the cushions, the photographer finally lifted her shirt, and sitting _crisscross-applesauce_ as she'd been taught, Dylan scooted forward slowly, running a fingertip along the swell of her mother's abdomen. "What's in your tummy?" she asked again, her tone tinged in impatience, though the miniscule nuances of it were overpowered by her curiosity.

Originally, she and Brittany had decided to broach the subject together, but Santana knew that there would be no avoiding this talk now that their daughter had set her mind on it. She racked her brain for an adequate explanation, one that would quell the toddler's questioning and guide her understanding of her mother's pregnancy. Leaning to her right, the older brunette plucked their family photo album from the coffee table, flicking through it quickly until she found the picture she'd immediately thought of.

"Mama!" Dylan perked up, jabbing at the photograph with her pointer finger, proud of her recognition. Santana nodded, smiling at the memory of their baby shower for the little girl sitting just in front of her. "What's in _her _tummy?" Though their daughter was premature, Brittany still had a sizeable bump immediately before the little girl's birth, one large enough to be noticeable.

"That's you," the photographer chuckled. Dylan's eyes went wide initially, before narrowing as she shook her head. "Si, mija. You lived in Mama's tummy for six months before we got to meet you. She had to help you grow big and strong, so that you could come home with us." Santana knew the entire idea of pregnancy was far above her two-year-old's head, but she continued on, hoping the toddler could grasp enough information to be satisfied. "Do you remember when Rory said she was going to have a little sister?" Tugging her lips inward, the tiny brunette nodded. "Rory's little sister grew in her mommy's tummy for a long time too, before she was ready to go home with them."

"And?" Dylan had yet to reach the "why" stage, and wouldn't for another year they suspected, but she took nothing at face value, and expected all stories to be extrapolated on to the fullest degree.

"You're going to have a little brother mija, in four months. He's growing in Mami's tummy, so that he can be big and strong when he comes to live with us." The little girl seemed relatively nonplussed by the idea, so Santana elected to continue. "That's why your Nanny talks to my tummy. She is talking to your little brother."

"Can he hear?"

Playing to her daughter's ego, she smiled slightly and nodded. "He can't hear as well as you can though, Lisita."

"What's his name?" Her curiosity surfaced once again, flaring dangerously as question after question fluttered through her head. Despite her initial misgivings on having to navigate this conversation solo, the photographer found it far easier than she anticipated to answer her daughter's inquiries as they bubbled to the surface. Upon revealing that a name had not been chosen, Dylan scrunched her nose in distaste before forming a backup plan. She leaned forward hesitantly, waiting for disapproval of her actions, though she received none. She left a slightly sloppy kiss just above her mother's belly button, placing a small hand where she decided her sibling was most likely to be. "Hi, little bruffer," she whispered to the bump she had been so intrigued by. "Our house is cool, so when you want to, you can come live here." She spoke to Santana's abdomen as if it were the most natural gesture in the world, and her words sent pangs through the woman's heart, causing her eyes to swim with tears. "Mama and Mami and I will wait for you." She pressed her lips against the older brunette's stomach once more before scooting forward and carefully crawling into her mother's lap.

"Te amo mija," Santana whispered, her voice slightly hoarse from the overwhelm of emotion the exchange had provoked within her. She pulled Dylan as closely as she could, running her fingernails through her daughter's unruly waves.

"Me too, Mama," she heard in response, and the three words were, for the first time, more than enough. She leaned back comfortably into the throw pillows tucked in the corner of the couch with the little girl in her lap following suit soon after. Tiny fingers resettled themselves onto the swell of the woman's stomach, tracing shapes much as Brittany would in the early morning hours as they lay quietly before the bustle of the day began. Santana situated her daughter's palm lower on her stomach, covering Dylan's hand with her own and chuckling when the toddler jumped, looking up at her mother in confusion. "What was that?"

"Your little brother is saying hello," she whispered, coating the little girl in a beaming smile as Dylan moved her hand again, searching for another kick to meet her palm. "Talk to him, Lisita. He's listening." Reaching toward the coffee table once more, Santana did her best not to move too quickly, fearing she would deter her daughter's conversation with her unborn second child. She successfully retrieved her phone and dialed her wife's number, knowing the phone call would likely go straight to voicemail. After the beep, she tapped the screen once, putting the device on speaker mode, and recorded Dylan's one sided dialogue with a wide grin teasing at her cheeks. She let the voicemail message run for several minutes, as the toddler outlined the things they would do once her younger sibling was born, which currently included playing with the dog, watching their Mama dance, and rolling down the hills at parks "if he wasn't ascared." The swelling in her chest was incomparable as she felt the flutters in her stomach continue, despite the length at which Dylan described the most trivial moments in utmost detail, such as how Mami didn't like Greek yogurt. She promised, in so many words, to teach him to swim once she herself learned, finally concluding her speech with a promise to "proteck him forever," which had a hormonal Santana tearing up a second time. A third, and last kiss was placed against the brunette's abdomen, as the little girl said her goodbyes, maintaining that she would talk to him again soon; ending the voicemail, now well over five minutes long, the photographer offered the idea of taking Lola for a walk, hoping to occupy Dylan until lunchtime, despite the fact that their dog had an expansive backyard and no longer needed regular walks. The toddler agreed readily, jumping from her place on the couch and speed walking toward her room, as she had been warned not to run down the hallways.

Surprisingly enough, given Dylan's general distaste for clothing, within fifteen minutes, both were dressed and heading out the front door with an unimpressed Lola, who quite clearly wasn't keen on reliving her days on the leash. At right around ten on a Monday morning, Santana assumed they would be alone for their walk, but found as they meandered through the neighborhood that a pattern was arising. Several homes they passed featured women sitting on the porch in pairs, apparently catching up on gossip, as they nearly always quieted as she and Dylan walked by, though waves and bright smiles were offered alongside the silence. It wasn't until they'd reached the end of the block that they encountered another person who'd ventured outside of their own front yard, a tall male who seemed to be in his thirties, with sandy blonde hair and a kind smile. He pushed a stroller before him and had a little girl, not more than a year older than Dylan riding a tricycle to his right, nearer the grass than the street.

"New to the neighborhood?" he greeted, flashing a cheeky smile from ten or so feet away.

"We just moved in," Santana replied easily, holding tight to Lola's leash as the dog yanked at it relentlessly.

"Have the Stepford Wives passed judgment on you yet?" he wondered aloud, nodding towards yet another pair of women whose attempts at nonchalance were miserably executed. The brunette chuckled and shrugged before lifting her eyes upward as if in thought and finally nodding. "I'm Ben," the man offered, extending a hand to Santana, and then to Dylan in turn. The toddler tucked herself behind the folds of her mother's skirt, eyeing the man warily until he pulled his arm back, allowing it to lazily flop onto the handle of the stroller. "This is Max," he pointed downward, to the sweetly sleeping infant beneath the hood of the device, "and Mackenzie."

"I'm Santana," she returned, running her fingers through the top of her daughter's hair as her mother had done so often for her at that age, feeling the little girl relax into the back of her thigh, "and this is Dylan. My wife and I live a bit further down the street," she finished, gesturing with her thumb behind them.

Ben mimicked her earlier nod, seemingly unaffected by her admission. "Well, welcome to the neighborhood Santana and Miss Dylan," he grinned. His open demeanor and laissez-faire attitude was refreshing, particularly in comparison to the condemnatory stares she had been receiving throughout the rest of her journey.

"Benji, can we go?" The little girl on the tricycle seemed intent on continuing their romp, anxiously tugging on the hem of the man's t-shirt. The petite brunette arched an eyebrow at the name the small blonde used for her guardian.

"They aren't my kids," he chuckled. "I'm a Manny – a male nanny. Both of their parents work full time, and they were opposed to day care, so I play Mr. Mom all day." Santana nodded, silently considering the option for her own family, but quickly dismissing it. "Maybe we could set up a play date for Mackenzie and Dylan one day," he continued, though his statement lilted towards the end, making it sound far more like a question.

"I'd like that," she nodded again, mirroring his easy smile. "I'll give you my number," she offered, reaching for the phone he pulled from the pocket of his jeans. "I need a bit of time to get settled, but I think a play date could be good for her." They had agreed to work on Dylan's socialization skills, but had yet to find a longitudinal solution, as day camps lasted but a few days and she was, in their opinion, too young to consider for pre-school just yet. Returning the phone to its owner, Santana met Ben's steady gaze, noting a strange sense of familiarity in his eyes. Lola let out a frustrated bark, and the brunette's expression turned sheepish as she nodded up the sidewalk, silently indicating that she needed to keep moving.

"Don't let the Stepfords get you down," he called out after she'd made it a few feet down the road, and she chuckled to herself as she took hold of Dylan's hand and they continued their morning's stroll.

* * *

A tall blonde slipped through the doors, fixating her sunglasses on top of her head to secure her bangs as she juggled a large cup of coffee and a much smaller white box containing a single red velvet cupcake. She found her target in a straddle on the floor, a position not unusual for the woman, though the tear tracks staining her cheeks were. "Britt, are you okay?" she queried as she moved closer, quickening her steps and placing both items in her hands onto the ground. The instructor had her earphones in, and it took several harsh taps to her thigh to remove her from her thoughts, whereupon she pulled the small devices from her ears and nodded, sniffling. She offered them to the girl in front of her, smiling slightly as Jess tucked them beneath her hair and began listening to the voicemail herself. Her cheeks split into a wide grin, becoming slightly teary herself as she listened to Dylan recount the memories they would form upon the arrival of her little brother.

"Are you upset Santana told her without you?" she finally asked, settling onto the floor as well and handing the phone back to her teacher.

"No, I'm actually pretty thankful. I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to do it," Brittany chuckled, her self-deprecation evident in her slight embarrassment. "I'm assuming it went well, if that voicemail was any indication." She reached out for the cup of coffee in front of her, waiting for Jessica to protest to determine if it was in fact hers. The other blonde smiled, waving her hand in encouragement as she lifted the top of the small white box she'd brought in, revealing a single cupcake with a tiny candle tucked into the icing. "Big spender," the instructor chuckled, sipping once from her tumbler. "How's the filming going? Why are you back in Chicago anyway?"

"I have a free pass until they need me back for the casting of my daughter, as strange as that sounds," the girl explained, rolling her eyes at the idea. "They're having trouble finding a little girl. I came to visit Jason though, to check on him."

"And how is he doing?" a much smoother voice inquired from the doorway as Dylan ran full throttle towards her mother, falling into Brittany's lap and snuggling close.

"He's taking it surprisingly well. I Skype with him almost every night," Jess answered, folding her legs beneath her body to stand and greet Santana. "You look gorgeous," she continued, her bright eyes astutely scanning the brunette's form before pulling her into a tight hug. "Pregnancy suits you." The slightest of flushes covered caramel cheeks as the woman mumbled out a thank you, tugging self-consciously at the hem of her t-shirt; it was the first day she'd attempted to pull together one of the outfits Kurt had built for her, and she felt surprisingly comfortable in the denim jacket and maxi skirt. She knew that was due in large part to the fact that she no longer needed to use rubber bands to secure the buttons of her jeans, but Kurt's seemingly never ending patience as they had browsed several clothing stores held just as much significance in her newfound pseudo-confidence.

"We were thinking about taking Britt out for a birthday lunch," Santana offered, quickly changing the subject from her growing form. "Would you like to come with us?" Jess tugged her mouth to side before nodding, her expression shifting into a shy smile.

"I actually had something I wanted to talk to you two about, so lunch would be perfect."

Struggling to stand with Dylan's additional weight, Brittany managed to get to her feet, tucking the little girl solidly against her hip. She pressed her lips against her wife's before exiting the studio, an involuntary shiver running down her spine as the simple gesture recalled memories of their activities earlier that morning. As the quartet settled into the car, the toddler turned to Jessica and beckoned her forward with a finger before cupping her right hand around her mouth and attempting to whisper. "I'm gonna have a little bruffer," she divulged, as though the news were earthshattering. Despite her attempts at maintaining a low tone, the confession was clearly audible, and Santana couldn't fight the grin that formed when Brittany intertwined their fingers over the console.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Jessica hushed back, chuckling as she appreciated Dylan's wide eyes and frantic nods. "Little brothers are way cool. I have one, and he's my best friend." Considering the statement, the little girl silently determined that the same would be true for her and her future sibling, although she had no true grasp of what precisely that would entail. The dancer relayed stories of all of the vacations her family had been on and explained the duties Dylan would have as a big sister, appreciating the rapt attention the toddler was gifting her as she spoke. They'd both become so invested in the stories that they hadn't noticed their arrival at the restaurant, nor the intentional jerkiness of Brittany's driving as she shifted into park; it took several coughs and the blonde clearing her throat obnoxiously for Jessica to be pulled from her storytelling back toward reality. Grinning sheepishly, she unfastened Dylan from her car seat and held the little girl close as the foursome trooped into the hole-in-the-wall Mexican establishment the birthday girl had chosen.

"Would you ladies like to start with an appetizer? Perhaps a margarita as well?"

"Chips and salsa," Santana decided quickly, "and water."

"Make it two," her wife concurred. "The last thing I need is to try and conquer the turn combination we're working on while tipsy."

"I'll have a mango margarita." The waiter arched an eyebrow in Brittany's direction, and the brunette nudged her, garnering her attention.

"Ma'am, is it all right if your daughter has the margarita? I'm sure she's underage, but we do make exceptions when with parents." Shooting a glare in Jessica's direction, the teacher eventually nodded, smiling congenially as the other two women stifled their giggles. Once the waiter had walked away to retrieve their drinks, Santana leaned into her wife's side, gently massaging her thigh to calm her down. Her fingers dug into the flesh, working out the tension of that morning's workshop classes and soothing her frayed nerves from their server's assumption.

"You look just as beautiful as the night I met you," she whispered, resting her chin on Brittany's shoulder. She felt the muscles there relax and planting a quick kiss behind her wife's ear, Santana intertwined their fingers and refocused her attention on the menu.

Watching carefully as the women across the table scanned the options in front of them, Jessica took a long sip of her margarita immediately after it was placed before her. She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat for several seconds before opting to help Dylan with her coloring until she'd worked up a stronghold of confidence; she was nearly as nervous as her teacher had been previously vexed, but knew the conversation she'd been avoiding since earlier that morning needed to occur. She showered the little girl in praise as she colored the sombrero of the pepper on the sheet purple with diligent attempts at staying within the lines. The personified cayenne then turned blue, despite Jess's suggestion that it might prefer being red, with Dylan insisting that it could be whatever it wanted to be. Young as she was, her mothers were already instilling a strong sense of individuality within the toddler, and it warmed the young woman's heart far more than she'd care to admit.

It's easy to fall into the patterns and norms set for us by society, far easier than forming our own paths and making atypical decisions. Despite the insistence that America was a melting pot, those in power seem to prefer it to become something far less varied, less spicy, less diverse; however, try as they might, the human race cannot become homogenized. Implanting ideals into the minds of our youth, encouraging them to make their own decisions and mistakes is the best hope we have at continuing to grow, to change, to revolutionize our world. Just as there will always be doctors and lawyers, there will always be nomads who can't find it within themselves to settle and there will always be those who have the souls of gypsies and existentialists, flower children who belong in the seventies who appreciate art and music and unadulterated beauty. We must cultivate that in the next generation, or lose so much of what has built our lives to be those of wonder, splendor, and brilliance, despite the horrors that creep in on occasion.

Jessica watched as within the high chair, Dylan's legs wiggled to the beat of the Spanish music playing through the speakers. These minute motions helped bolster the modicum of confidence she possessed, and handing the little girl the crayon in her hand, she addressed the two women just feet away from her.

"Can I talk to you guys about something?" Santana lifted her eyes from the menu, locking gazes with the girl before switching her line of vision toward her wife. The older blonde nodded, leaning an elbow onto the table and squeezing the caramel hand in her grip once for reassurance. "I talked to Brody about it, and he said it might be a good idea, so I wanted to see what you guys though and I know you'd have to talk about it a lot but – "

"There's no reason to be nervous Jess," Brittany interjected, more than accustomed to interrupting Rachel's conversational paragraphs. "Just say what you want to say."

"They want Dylan to audition for the role of my daughter."

* * *

**AN: Yes, I know. _Another _cliffhanger, haha. However, fluff, fluff, and more fluff. I hope you all enjoyed. Let me know either way. :) **


	44. Chapter 44: Just a Big Bath Tub

Both women's eyes automatically flickered to the little girl in question, who remained remarkably oblivious of the attention as she moved her crayon tip from the purple pepper to the sand beneath the character's historical inaccurate boots, coloring the expanse orange. Brittany felt her wife's hand tense in their hold, the cogs working beneath her dark hair almost audible as hypothetical situations played out in her mind.

"You're right. We'd have to talk about it," she finally said, vocalizing Santana's obvious trepidation at making an instantaneous decision. Despite her admittedly rebellious adolescent years, the brunette had developed a essentially incomparable ability to brainstorm and consider the majority of the outcomes of a situation in what seemed like milliseconds, leaving her prone to unending anxiety. "I don't know that we'd be good stage moms," Brittany joked, hoping to lighten the mood. Santana gave a half-hearted chuckle in response and the young woman across the table nodded, a twist of guilt building in her gut.

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot –"

"No," the photographer whispered hoarsely, shaking her head side to side. The other two froze, focusing on her wide eyes, projecting a nervousness seen only in the expressions of deer caught in near-miss accidents. "No," she repeated more firmly, "you didn't put us on the spot. There are just a lot of factors to think about." Jessica exhaled sharply, sending a wan smile toward the couple, a silent concession and nonverbal agreement to drop the subject, refocusing the conversation elsewhere. "Speaking of California though, how is Wheezy? Have she and Trouty Mouth popped out children with abnormally sized lips yet?" A typical defense mechanism, Brittany squeezed her wife's thigh, asking with her fingertips for the woman to reign herself in; Santana responded by glaring at her wife out of the corner of her eyes, refusing to compromise when in that moment her insults were the only barrier she felt she possessed.

We all build up walls. Some people walk around with strongholds that are miles high and virtually impenetrable, while others choose picket fences with unlocked gates surrounded by daisies. They are often meant to keep the world out in times of weakness, of fear, of uncertainty, but these blockades can just as often keep that lack of strength, that anxiety, that lack of confidence that much closer to our hearts.

"She said, and I quote, 'send my love to Satan, Britt, and their little one, who hopefully hasn't taken after the Wicked Witch of the Midwest.'"

Her defenses floundering, the brunette continued her act, joking about how it was obvious Mercedes missed her, a hand overdramatically resting over her heart. Internally, she felt as though she could hear her nerves ripping apart at the ends, scattering through her body and leaving her nauseous. The taste of bile filled the back of her throat, despite the knowledge that they could simply turn down the offer, leaving their family unit intact and their routine undisturbed. In her turmoil, she'd not noticed Brittany hiking up the hem of her skirt until a cool palm grazed the inside of her thigh, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

"Breathe for me," she whispered, tracing delicate circles just above Santana's knee as Jessica focused her attention on Dylan's coloring sheet, cooing over how well the toddler was doing. "We'll discuss everything when we get home tonight, okay honey?" The brunette nodded dumbly, twining their fingers a second time and mouthing an apology in her wife's direction; Brittany let her eyes flutter closed for a second longer than usual, accepting the words immediately and scooting her chair just that much more closely to the photographer's seat just as their waiter made a reappearance.

"Have you ladies decided on your orders?"

* * *

Despite the lingering heat of the day, Santana sat on the deck, a roaring fire licking at the humid air surrounding her. She shifted her attention from the books that formed a semi-circle around her chair to the condensed rivulets wandering down the sides of her glass of ice water. She absentmindedly chewed on the cap of the pen between her lips, comparing each runaway droplet to the train tracks her locomotive mental state had raced down. The furious scribbles across the lined pages of the notebook in her lap were frantic, illegible, and psychotically detailed. Her chest was tight, her breathing uneven, and her fingertips shaky as she relentlessly gnawed at the plastic captured by her teeth, breaking down the strength of the pen cap as she felt her own strength waning. She nearly wished she'd developed obsessive cleaning habits like her high school guidance, because at least then her nervous mental energy could be applied to something more productive than compulsively burning twigs and phonebook pages. _Who even uses a phonebook anymore_?

"Are you hungry?" Without taking her eyes away from the water pellets dancing against the surface of her glass, she shook her head, continually contemplating the demographics of people who might legitimately utilize a phonebook. "You haven't eaten since lunch," Brittany chastised slightly, moving further out onto the deck, "and you didn't eat much then sweetheart." Shifting a stack of books from the chair opposite her wife, the blonde extended a plate containing a grilled cheese sandwich and all-dressed baked chips, something she'd had to special order from Canada to meet Santana's cravings. "I added bacon," she sing-songed as she set the plate on the table, provoking an involuntary chuckle to bubble over the other woman's lips, though she quickly clamped down on the spontaneous laughter, resuming her sullen disposition.

Releasing a sigh, Brittany sunk into the now free-from-literature chair, hesitantly reaching out to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her wife's ear. "Please don't shut me out right now," she whispered, her voice reflecting how broken the silence of the afternoon had left her. "I need to know where you're at."

Reaching toward her glass, Santana caught a droplet of water on the tip of her finger, staring at it blankly as she spoke. "I keep battling with myself." Unwilling, and nearly unable to see her lover slipping so far back toward the world she'd barely existed in before, the blonde tugged gently on the other woman's free hand, encouraging her to resettle herself onto strong thighs. Brittany wrapped her arms loosely around her wife's waist once the photographer had moved, nestling her head against the rough material of the denim jacket covering her biceps. "I would have to go, because you couldn't leave work, which means that I would have to find an ob-gyn in Los Angeles. We'd be separated again, and despite her progress, I don't know how Dylan would react to that. We don't know how long filming would be, or if she could handle being around that many strangers. If the movie is big, there's the chance we would have relocate permanently, if she gets other offers. She isn't even two years old for god's sake Britt!" Chest heaving, Santana turned to her wife, chocolate eyes wide with unknowing and flickering desperately as she grappled with all that she couldn't control.

"What harm will going to the audition do?" the blonde whispered, trying just as desperately to bargain with the photographer's fears, now physically tangible as tears brimmed dangerously against her eyelashes. "The workshop is over at the end of this week," she continued, playing her own form of devil's advocate in light of Santana's seemingly unending worry. "We fly out, get to see Mercedes and Sam, and introduce Dylan to her first real beach. We can have a family vacation before we're nearly outnumbered by our own children."

"So we just go, and see how it all pans out when we get there?" Santana asked, tugging at the charm bracelet dangling around her wrist. The spontaneity of the trip was terrifying; she'd come to find solace in their routine, despite her initial reservations in being "too domesticated." In therapy, Dr. Goodwin had recommended finding safe places, and while lying down in the still of the morning, tangled in their sheets and coated in Brittany's untainted loving gazes was the epitome of solace and comfort, those moments were yet incomparable to the solidarity she found in the unembellished knowledge of what was to come.

"You almost sound like you'd rather listen to Rachel sing opera for a full twenty four hours," Brittany chuckled, teasingly pinching her wife's sides. "It'll be fine sweetheart. We can talk to Dylan and see what she wants to do," she finished, slipping her fingers between Santana's to still her fidgeting.

"You want to ask our two year old if she wants to be in a movie?" Her look was incredulous at best, downright disbelieving at worst.

"Not in so many words," the blonde rolled her eyes, bouncing her knees in retaliation to unsettle the precocious brunette settled atop them, "but I think we could get a read on where she would be with things. She's far more perceptive than we give her credit for." Santana nodded, releasing an inhale that had caught in her chest and leaning further away from the warmth of the fire and closer toward the warmth of her wife. "Why don't we sleep on this one, and revisit it tomorrow? You eat your grilled cheese, and I'll get Dylan into her swim suit and floaties, and we can act like the mothers of a normal toddler and not a future Academy Award nominee for one more night."

The brunette chuckled and nodded again, reaching for the sandwich perched on the end of their patio table. She paused before returning the plate to its place and twisting in Brittany's arms. "Have I mentioned lately how thankful I am that you put up with my crazy?"

"Once or twice," the dancer shrugged, flashing a cheeky grin as she shifted out from underneath her wife and headed inside, calling their daughter's name as she ran through the hallway with her fingers extended and wiggling menacingly. Santana could hear Dylan's laughter through the slightly cracked sliding door as Brittany no doubt tickled her mercilessly before actually changing her into her swimsuit. Biting into her grilled cheese, the brunette chewed thoughtfully, still weighing the pros and cons of a trip to California silently. Her wife had, as always, managed to both infuriate her with logicality and sooth her tattered nerves with compassion, though she remained just as much on the fence as she was before. Picking at the crusts of her sandwich, she determined that her appetite hadn't yet returned and tossed the relatively untouched plate into the garbage can on the corner of the deck, covering it with yesterday's newspaper. Santana slid the doors open, padding in the direction of the master bedroom to change into her own swimsuit, taking a few extra moments in front of the mirror to run revelatory fingertips over her abdomen.

"Mami!" The woman twisted around, revealing her first unhindered smile of the afternoon as she took in her daughter's appearance. A few weeks prior, Quinn had taken both Dylan and Rory to go and buy swim suits, resulting in matching yellow bikinis with ruffles along the butt and incessant renditions of the song to match for the rest of the day. The little girl's arms rested as closely as they could to her sides, despite the floaties between her biceps and sternum, and it brought to mind the memory of Dylan mimicking the penguins at her first trip to the aquarium. "Can Bruffer come swim too?"

"We're all going in the pool mija, your little brother included." The child's beaming expression was almost more than her mother could handle, and Santana felt her worries melting away as a tiny hand grabbed hold of her own, dragging her insistently toward the back door. Reaching behind her, she tangled her free fingers with her wife's, squeezing once to silently offer her gratitude as Dylan crossed the deck, bouncing with each step. Brittany slipped into the pool first, standing just in front of the steps at the shallow end with her arms extended toward her daughter. The toddler eyed the water warily, attempting, but failing to place her hands on her hips, due to the floaties. "It's just like a big bath tub Little Bit," Santana chuckled from her place perched on the edge, gently nudging the child forward with a pat on the butt. "Mama won't let anything happen to you."

Taking a hesitant step forward, Dylan dipped the toes of her right food into the water, clinging fervently to the railing near her. Brittany fought against her own laughter, instead waving her arms inward and attempting to persuade her daughter to step down into the water. The tiny brunette shook her head, now entirely nonplussed by the idea of a gigantic bathtub and unlikely, it seemed, to venture further into the pool. "What if Mami and your little brother get in first?" Santana rolled her eyes good naturedly before readjusting her bikini bottoms and slipping into the water, light goose bumps covering her arms at the change in temperature. Flashing the toddler a reassuring smile, the photographer nodded encouragingly, mimicking Brittany's arm motions; she felt her cheeks being stretched further when Dylan's foot finally made contact with the first step of the stairs, soon after followed by her other. She stood knee deep in the water, still gripping the railing near her with tenacity, though her stubborn, if slightly nervous expression had softened. Hesitantly, she moved forward a second time, her eyes widening comically as she noted the water rose nearly to her chest, though there were still two more steps beneath her. The blonde met her daughter at the foot of the stairs, gripping her small hands with veracity before slowly shifting backward.

Dylan's face crumpled slightly before setting itself into a look of no less than utter determination, whereupon she allowed Brittany to pull her into the open water; her cheeks appled as a grin overtook her initial worry, and she kicked her toes beneath the water giggling before latching onto the dancer's torso for security.

"Just a big bath tub," Santana repeated, tapping the end of the little girl's nose. "You said you'd teach your little brother to swim, remember?" She watched as the miniature version of herself nodded, smiling much more happily as she acclimated to her surroundings, running her hands over the pool's surface before slapping her palms against it. Brittany spluttered as the backsplash hit her face, shaking the water from her eyes as she chuckled at her daughter's enthusiasm. The brunette had swam in the other direction, the only part of her easily visible being her stomach, which protruded above the water level as she floated on her back. Brittany began moving in the same direction, allowing Dylan to skim the water as she followed, encouraging the toddler to kick her feet on occasion and delighting in the child's grin of accomplishment.

With her wife's ears safely beneath the level of the water, the blonde chose the moment to quietly broach the idea of California with the little girl grasping her hands firmly, despite not knowing how fully she would understand. "Do you remember when you and Jessie danced on the big stage?" Though she thought it impossible, Dylan's smile grew marginally and she nodded, kicking furiously to return herself to her mother's chest. Brittany wrapped her arms around her daughter, bouncing her slightly as she continued. "Would you want to dance with Jessie again? Someone asked us if you would want to do that."

"Okay."

Taking the singular word as the best confirmation she would receive, Brittany returned her daughter's bright grin and continued moving them in her wife's direction. The pair flicked beads of water onto Santana's face, giggling collectively as delicate features scrunched in frustration before the photographer righted herself and splashed a wave in their direction in retaliation. Dylan continually switched sides, moving between her mothers easily, though she seemingly hadn't conquered her mild fear of the open water, clinging mercilessly to whomever she was attached to and sending water toward the other. It was a long while before the little girl's efforts diminished and she stifled a yawn into Santana's neck.

"Are you ready to get out?" the woman asked, receiving a shaken head in response that had her holding in her laughter. "That's too bad," she teased, "because it's bath time." Slowly making their way across the length of the pool, Dylan remained silent until the trio piled into the master bathroom, peeling off their swimsuits simultaneously.

"The pool is a bath tub," the toddler protested. "You said it, Mami." Brittany arched an eyebrow at the rather astute argument their daughter had developed, a smirk tugging at her cheeks.

"I said it's _like _a big bath tub, mija," Santana corrected, leaning over to twist the hot water handle before settling onto the edge of the porcelain and dipping her fingers beneath the flow of the faucet. "You still need to take a real bath." Dylan collapsed onto the floor, tears filling her eyes as if the world had crumbled around her, and despite the humor of her breakdown, neither woman could help the pain seeping into their chests. "I know you're tired honey," the brunette cooed, running her fingers through her daughter's damp curls.

"I'm not tired –" the little girl hiccupped, though her eyes were rimmed in red and her posture was slouched, indicating precisely the opposite. Ignoring the fussiness, Brittany flicked on the opposite handle, allowing it to combat the steam encompassing their bathroom before dipping her hand into the tub and announcing the temperature as acceptable. Her wife lifted their child into her arms, sinking both of them into warmth and reaching backwards for a cup, dipping it beneath the water level repetitively as she rinsed the chlorine from Dylan's hair. The blonde followed suit, grabbing hold of a washcloth before stepping in herself, lathering strawberry scented soap into the fabric and diligently running the bubbles over her daughter's small limbs.

"Not tired, huh?" she chuckled after a few minutes, prompting Santana to tilt her gaze downward and find the little girl passed out in her arms, her mouth wide open and her eyelashes fluttering precariously. Brittany abandoned her own bath, slipping a fuzzy robe over her shoulders before leaning over and lifting Dylan from her wife's arms, wrapping her gently in a towel. She managed to get the toddler into a shirt and pull-ups without rousing her too greatly, and tucked her into bed, though she shot a longing look towards the crib on the opposite side of the room; though they'd both known how quickly time could fly by, watching their daughter grow up had managed to leave her heart aching with wishes that Dylan would stay this age forever and hopes for a future she'd yet to realize.

When she'd returned to her own bedroom, she found Santana running a wide-toothed comb through her hair, humming softly to herself. The blonde's fingertips danced across the curve of her back before she pulled the plug of their tub to allow the water to drain and switched the showerhead on. Despite the tension of the afternoon, she'd spent most of her birthday doing what she loved with the people she loved, and rather than a big party, or a pile of expensive gifts, she was realizing she wanted nothing more than what she already had. That fact was only reaffirmed by the smile that graced her cheeks when Brittany slipped beneath the sheets and her wife immediately rolled over to meet her gaze.

"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday," she whispered after a beat, and the blonde felt the good feeling building within her chest deflate slightly.

She shook her head before searching for caramel fingers underneath the comforter, fixing them together and bringing them up to her lips, leaving a single kiss on the back of Santana's hand. "You didn't ruin anything," she returned in a similarly low tone. "It was perfect." Scooting forward, Brittany pressed their bodies as closely together as she could manage, keeping a firm grip on their handhold. "You are perfect, Dylan is perfect, our unnamed baby boy will be perfect, and my birthday was _perfect_. I promise." The brunette nodded drowsily, a hesitant smile quirking the corner of her mouth upward.

"Te amo mucho mi amor," Santana hushed out, readjusting her positioning and nuzzling into her wife's neck.

"I love you too, beautiful."


	45. Chapter 45: You Didn't Not Say It

"I'm honestly surprised you're going along with this S," the blonde murmured, lifting a t-shirt in front of her and shaking it once before matching the sleeves and folding it twice more. She settled the article of clothing atop the numerous other pieces they'd spent much of the morning working on, eyeing the three suitcases splayed across the queen sized bed.

"I'm choosing to ignore the fact that this may alter my life forever, and instead I'm focusing on the idea that this is a merely a family vacation," Santana called from the bathroom, tossing a bottle of lotion into her makeup case before zipping it closed.

"You'll have to see Sam and Mercedes though," Quinn rebutted, separating the clothing into piles and placing them gently into the luggage before her, smiling softly when she noticed the band around the top of many of her best friend's shorts. "Didn't Sam and Brittany date for a while in high school?"

"I'm also choosing to ignore that." The photographer moved into the bedroom, haphazardly tossing the bag in her hand on top of the clothing the blonde had carefully folded before reaching for the Styrofoam cup she'd left on the bedside table. Santana stuck her tongue out playfully when Quinn automatically removed the makeup case and brushed the wrinkles from the dress the brunette had disheveled. "Dr. Goodwin and I had a long talk about my locust of control and how it is, and I quote, 'extremely internalized.'"

"So your shrink said that you were a control freak?"

Santana shrugged her shoulders as she sipped from the smoothie, gnawing on the straw between her teeth. "Basically."

"I can't imagine where she ever got _that _idea," Quinn teased, smirking as she continued packing the rest of Brittany's things for the flight that evening.

Shooting her best friend a withering glare, the brunette slurped several times before deigning her response appropriate. "When Dylan wins an Academy Award, I'll make sure to remind her not to include you in her acceptance speech." Santana replaced her smoothie on the bedside table, gathering some of her own clothing and beginning to fold it, albeit with far less precision than her packing partner.

"Where is the little one anyway?" Quinn tugged her short hair into a bunch at the nape of her neck, shimmying a spare ponytail holder off of her wrist and looping it quickly around the expanse of hair there. "I was kind of hoping I would get some Nanny time in."

"It's the in-house showcase for the workshop today. Britt's only there until about noon, so she took Dylan with her to watch the performances. We've found it's a _lot_ easier to pack without a two-year-old constantly demanding your attention." The blonde nodded as Santana tossed a spare phone charger into her suitcase and lifted a lined piece of paper from between her working space and her best friend's; she scanned the list she'd formulated a few days prior to check for any missing items before grumbling under her breath. "I feel like I'm forgetting something," she muttered as she mentally ticked off each entry she'd meticulously gone over. Her free hand groped aimlessly for her cup, finally taking purchase of it again and subjecting her straw to further incessant gnawing as her eyes flickered across the page.

Quinn folded the last of the stack of clothing in front of her before looking over the brunette's shoulder and chuckling. "Unless you plan on going commando, underwear might be necessary." Santana frowned, checking over her list a third time and noticing that undergarments of any sort had been completely forgotten. "Looks to me like someone's got a bad case of Baby Brain."

"I lost my sunglasses for two hours yesterday," the brunette acquiesced, grimacing slightly. "They were on top of my head." She flopped onto the bed, nearly upsetting the suitcase next to her as she groaned, poking gently at the swell on her abdomen. "Mami would really appreciate it if you would stop screwing with her head sweetheart. I can understand if you want black olives at three in the morning or you feel like trying to tickle my belly button from the inside, but playing keep-away with my aviators and making sure I forget underwear isn't okay Little Man." Santana received a strong kick to the underside of her bump in response, and rolled her eyes. "He's still in the womb and he's already talking back. With our luck, Dylan will be considered our 'easy' child."

Quinn giggled again, crossing the bedroom and casually rummaging through her friends' drawers before coming back with a sizeable armful of underwear and separating it into the two suitcases. "Should I be concerned that you can tell the difference between our underwear?" Santana asked, arching an eyebrow liberally.

"I don't think so," the blonde replied easily, tilting her head slightly as she held up two pairs, one in black lace and the other in blinding neon pink, before tossing each in their respective suitcases. "Brittany and Dylan are on their way home," she continued, holding Santana's phone up and typing out a response.

"Well should I be concerned that you know my passcode then?" the brunette muttered grumpily. "What if there is something I don't want you to see on there?"

"If you don't want me to look, you shouldn't alternate between your wedding anniversary, your child's birthday, or 2748," Quinn shrugged, "though I will give you creativity points for spelling out B-R-I-T, because that one was a little more difficult to crack." Santana rolled her eyes as she chuckled before easing herself into a sitting position and cupping the lower side of her abdomen, grimacing slightly as she received a solid kick beneath the surface. The blonde watched her carefully, her furrowed eyebrows not separating as her son continued moving around. "Can I feel?"

The photographer nodded, her expression easing minimally as she smiled, reaching for her best friend's hand and settling it low on her stomach. She watched as Quinn's face transformed, lighting up as small motions hit her palm, only ceasing after as she rubbed the area gently.

"Stay in there for a while longer little guy," she cooed. "We're excited to meet you, but I think we'd all appreciate if you didn't come as an early surprise like your big sister."

"No kidding," Santana laughed, twisting to watch as the blonde zipped two of the suitcases closed before lifting the third and exiting the room. Standing with minimal effort, she followed closely behind, continuing to observe as Quinn began packing Dylan's bag, thankful that her best friend was far more organized than she and her wife were. "But if we're being totally honest here, I think I'll miss being pregnant when he finally _does _make an appearance," the brunette admitted, leaning against the wall and running her fingertips over the painted lyrics on the canvas there.

"Have you two decided on a name yet?" Quinn queried, a soft smile teasing at her cheeks as she continued sorting through the miniature drawers in her goddaughter's dresser. "I figured you would start talking about it earlier, so we aren't stuck with another 'Baby Lopez-Pierce' when you deliver."

"We've thrown around a few ideas," Santana clandestinely replied. She and Brittany had agreed on a name almost immediately upon discovering they were having a son, but had also agreed to keep it a secret until their little one was born. The closest they'd come to revealing their newest addition's name was disclosing his initials to April, who had insisted upon a monogrammed diaper bag, though they both believed it to be a ploy to break their silence.

"You're killing me, S. I'm your first child's godmother. If I'm not privy to his name, who the hell is?"

"Not even the grandmothers know, so you're wasting your breath," Brittany chuckled from the doorway, sinking to the ground to let Dylan run toward her other mother. The toddler's pigtails bounced as she took off, squealing gleefully as she was wrapped in a warm embrace and swung lightly from side to side. "You'll find out when everyone else does."

Quinn huffed, fluttering her bangs against her forehead before reaching into her pocket and retrieving her phone, tapping at the screen furiously. The other blonde watched her intently as Dylan relayed her morning at the studio to Santana, beginning with the "boo-berry yogurt" she had for breakfast, and carefully detailing the rest of the day, from the lollipop the bank teller had given her in the drive-thru to the pizza guy dancing on the side of the road with a large sign and a State of Liberty costume, though that wasn't described in such an accurate fashion.

"Boys can wear dresses if they want to, Lisita. We don't judge other people, remember? You can be anyone you want to be, and so can they, si?" The little girl nodded solemnly, considering her mother's words before jumping as Quinn startled all three of them.

"Keanu, Keaton, or Keene," she exclaimed, her eyes narrowed slightly as she scrolled through her screen. "Kerr or Kevin, or Kert!"

"We're not naming our son after Twinkletoes, Lucy Q," Santana refuted disdainfully.

"So you admit that one of the other names is right?"

"I said no such thing." She ran her fingers through one of Dylan's pigtails, smirking in her best friend's direction.

"You didn't _not _say it either," she shot back quickly, her expression one of triumphant victory. Scrunching her nose as she continued scrolling, she maneuvered past obvious no's (Keegsquaw, Keezheekoni, and Kehelahath) and mentally marked other possibilities. "Dylan, sweetheart, do you know what your little brother's name will be?"

Blue eyes widened and shifted from Santana to Brittany and back, finally landing on her mother's slightly shaken head and unconcealed smirk. The toddler twisted on her toes to face her godmother, intertwining her fingers behind her back before speaking, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Yes, I do," she stated matter-of-factly, "because Mama told me his name so I could talk to him in Mami's tummy." Quinn's expression brightened as the warmth of potential victory began flooding her frame. "I can't tell you what it is though. Mama said if I didn't tell, me and Lola could get matching tutus."

The blonde scowled as her friends chuckled behind their daughter, sharing triumphant looks. "Nanny Q will buy you both _two_ matching tutus if you tell me."

Dylan tugged her lips into her mouth, furrowing her brow before shaking her head as her mother had earlier. "I pinkied, Nanny. You can't break a pinkie." The little girl extended her smallest finger as an example, her confliction evident on her features. "You can't never break a pinkie." Quinn nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose before sinking to the ground to squat eye level to her godchild. "Mami pinkied to love me forever, and Mama pinkied that I could see Jessie soon, and Jojo pinkied that we could bake cookies. You can't never break a pinkie Nanny." Dylan was nearly in tears, her fifth finger still hanging in the air as her bottom lip quivered.

"Well I pinkie that I won't ask you his name again, okay Lovebug?" Quinn linked her own finger around the child's much smaller one, squeezing tightly before gripping the back of the toddler's neck and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now let's finish packing so you can get ready to go see Jessie. How's that sound Dyl?" The little girl nodded, leaning forward to wrap her arms around her godmother's neck and falling further into the embrace when she felt the blonde's own arms snake around her body.

* * *

It's been said that life is a journey, not simply a destination; we continually move forward, until taking a wrong turn and doubling back. There are emotional traffic jams, memory-filled pit stops, and sometimes nearly fatal accidents where we lose friends, lovers, or ourselves. We pass other people, glancing at them, sometimes finding their windows down, enjoying the breeze, while other times our gazes are met with harshly tinted windows that cannot be penetrated; it is all parallel navigation and we are almost incapable of interacting with anyone outside of our own vehicle, unless we roll down our own windows or open our doors to them, allowing these individuals to join us on our lifelong trip. We pass signs that provoke thoughts of previous voyages and occasionally notice a single continuous edifier throughout our travels – a Main Street of our lives – seen in every city, town, and suburb we navigate through.

* * *

"Okay baby girl, you need to take your sandals off." Dylan's eyes widened and she shook her head furiously, watching as the machine before her pulled boxes into it. From her vantage point, she could not see the gray tubs exit the other side, and she firmly planted her feet into the carpet of the airport, effectively delaying everyone behind them.

"Mami," she whispered miserably, tugging on the fabric of Santana's dress, "it's going to eat them."

The brunette chuckled, shifting her carry-on bag off of her shoulder and onto the conveyor belt before slipping her own shoes off, placing them in one of the security tubs with her watch, wedding ring, and necklace. "I pinkie it won't mija," she cooed, squatting down to release the Velcro on the toddler's sandals. "They'll be waiting for us on the other side of the doorway," she continued, pointing to the scanner each passenger had to walk through. Santana heard grumbling and several protests from the people behind her and her family, but ignored it, slipping off both of Dylan's shoes finally and adding them to her possessions. She walked through the scanner and twisted around, cajoling her daughter to do the same, whereupon the toddler darted through the frame quickly, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "I'm very proud of you Lisita," Santana murmured as her daughter wrapped tiny arms around her shoulders, her breathing mildly erratic. "Let's get your shoes back on, and Mami will give you her phone so you can listen to music until it's time to go on the big plane, okay?"

Brittany ran a hand over the back of Dylan's head when she too passed through security, gathering their belongings and shifting her family out of the direct path of the other passengers. "Is she okay?" she mouthed as she knelt to the ground to begin refastening the small white sandals in her hand.

"She's overwhelmed I think," her wife admitted, staring downward at the pair with a slightly worried look. "It's a lot of people," she continued, "and you remember last time." Brittany nodded, tucking the little girl to her hip before she stood again, heaving her bag over her free shoulder. Dylan curled into her mother's neck, fisting a small bunch of hair in her hand and whimpering slightly as they moved away from security.

"Mama, I hafta potty."

"I'll take her," Santana offered. "Go and find us some seats. We've got a half an hour before boarding, so we might as well get comfortable." The toddler was shifted once again to the ground, whereupon she immediately latched onto the brunette's skirt, clinging with ferocity despite the soothing fingers running through her hair as they searched for a bathroom. Not far from their gate was a family restroom, and ducking her head into the second stall, she found a toilet that did not flush automatically, sending her prayers skyward after the previous incident they'd had with that particular mechanism. Setting down a paper guard, she helped the little girl onto the seat, squatting before her and focusing on the bright blue eyes hidden behind her bangs.

"You need a haircut mija," she chuckled, brushing the slightly overgrown hair across her daughter's forehead, involuntarily jumping when she heard the bathroom door slam behind her, temporarily flashing back to a similar setting and the heinous events she'd spent months working past. She took a deep breath in, redirecting her attention to Dylan once more as the child wiggled on top of the seat, indicating she was ready to be lifted off and properly cleaned. The door swung shut a second time and Santana flinched reactively before leaning over to flush the toilet, shaking her head to clear away the lingering anxiety. She lifted Dylan onto the counter, helping the smallest of the Lopez-Pierce family wash her hands, only lifting her gaze when she felt her daughter's burning into her skull.

"Why are you scared Mami?" she asked innocently enough, keeping her tone low and her eyes wide.

"I'm not scared sweetheart," the brunette automatically replied, twisting to retrieve paper towels and diligently drying the child's tiny hands. "I'm just fine." Dylan eyed her wearily, even as she was set onto the ground, fisting the fabric of her mother's dress once more.

"You don't hafta be scared," the little girl finally spoke again. "Mama and I will protect you and Keegan."

* * *

**AN: I know this is a shorter update that you all are accustomed to, and for that I apologize. Two updates in the span of a month is unacceptable by my own personal standards, so I'm sorry. With that said though, I do hope you enjoyed the update, and would appreciate to hear back from you as to what you'd like to see more or less of, or where you would like certain story lines to go. :) xx Aimee**


	46. Chapter 46: Pretty Girl Song

After Dylan was settled onto Brittany's lap, earphones tucked beneath her hair, the blonde slipped the hand not wrapped around her daughter's waist into the quivering fingers attached to her wife. "Are you okay?" she whispered, intent on keeping her voice low. Santana nodded and then shrugged, tightening the hold she had on the milky palm adjacent to her own before leaning against the dancer's shoulder. "You weren't this nervous the last time we came to the airport," she continued, fishing around for what she inherently knew was the issue.

"We were running late. I didn't have any spare time to think about it."

Pursing her lips, Brittany offered her own nod, subconsciously pulling Dylan more closely to her chest, despite the toddler's squirming against the motion. "I won't let you out of my sight this time," she said quietly, a rush of guilt seeping into her limbs. "When I put that ring on your finger, I promised to protect you – to keep you safe. I would do anything to keep that promise."

"I know sweetheart, I know," Santana cooed, feeling the tension in her shoulder recede as she snuggled further into her wife's side, letting her eyelids flutter shut as the sounds of the people around them lulled her. Her free hand automatically fell against her stomach, cupping it gently as if she were trying to make the very same promise to their unborn son.

Life is a constant shifting of priorities; we're born self-centered, unable to think of much else aside from ourselves and our own needs. We carry that with us for years, decades even, until we find someone whose happiness we deem more important than our own. We focus all of our attention on making sure that they are satisfied, content, and as whole as we can make them, hoping that we can end each day with the knowledge that we've done our best by them. It's only after we have children that our paradigm shifts once more. Suddenly their needs, their wants, and their dizziest daydreams are our sole focus; ensuring that they have every opportunity in the world becomes all that matters. We dedicate our lives to our children, to protecting them, to showering them with unconditional love, and to supporting them no matter their desires. Perhaps though, it's that we become self-centered once more, as they are inherently the best and most promising pieces of ourselves. Regardless though, it is with dedication that we lay down our lives for these bright, newly crafted beings of the universe, in the hopes that they will surpass our greatest accomplishments and avoid our weakest downfalls.

"When are you due?" The melodic, slightly accented tone of the voice jolted Santana from her reveries and her eyes shifted, meeting warm chocolate, with what seemed to be a flame of light encompassed in the pupil. Rather than feel her nerves fray, she smiled kindly, her hand not moving from its perch against the swell of her abdomen.

"The end of October," she replied softly, her palm making unconscious circles against her stomach.

"Cinco meses, mas o menos, si? Un nino?" Her gaze flickered back to the woman, her native tongue garnering her attention a second time before she nodded. "How old is your little girl?"

Washing her daughter with an expression nothing short of adoring, though Dylan remained oblivious as she wiggled within the confines of the blonde's arms, Santana grinned. "She'll be two at the end of next month – July 29th."

"You both are in for a handful," the woman chuckled, laugh lines forming at the corners of her eyes as she scrunched her face slightly. "That age is when things start getting interesting."

"She's a handful already," Brittany joined in, echoing the laughter. "I'm not sure how many more handfuls of this one we can take." She bounced her legs a few times, watching as Dylan tilted left, right, and then left again before twisting around to scowl at her mother. The blonde wiggled menacing fingers, finally attacking the little girl's stomach, her high-pitched giggles attracting several turned heads.

"Are you excited to have a little brother?" The toddler, having removed her earphones to listen to the conversation, eyed the woman warily for several long seconds before nodding. She shifted in Brittany's lap, turning sideways to continue observing the interactions between her mother and the older woman who bore a striking resemblance to Santana. As they had seen with Jessica, the similar physical characteristics seemed to ease Dylan minimally, despite the strength with which she clung to the blonde's jacket.

"I have to wait though," the child mumbled, tucking her head into her mother's chest. "He's not ready to come home. He has to grow bigger." The woman chuckled, causing Dylan's cheeks to flush slightly, leading her to hide beneath Brittany's hair.

"You're right, bambina. He's got to be strong like his big sister before he can go home."

"I want to meet him _now_," she protested, her fingers playing with the ends of the hair shielding her. A deep voice over the intercom announced that their flight could begin boarding just seconds after, prompting Brittany to shift her daughter's position and resettle the little girl against her hip. Both women waved congenially to the third, offering their goodbyes as they gathered their belongings. Santana made her way to the gate first, one of the few perks she'd found in being pregnant, and only barely heard her wife's comment to their child.

"I want to meet him now too Lovebug."

* * *

"Ay Dios mio," Santana grumbled, two fingers from each hand steadily massaging her temples as her daughter's cries grew louder. She was nearly in tears herself, watching as taxi after taxi was pilfered from directly beneath their noses; the Los Angeles natives amongst them had thus far ignored her wife's protests as they slipped past her and into the backseat. "Britt –"

"I'm trying," she snapped in return, bouncing Dylan on her hip and shushing her, though her efforts were remarkably ineffective as the toddler's incessant wailing continued. A fifth car pulled up to the curb and before Brittany could take a step forward, another person pushed against her shoulder, jostling the child tucked tightly against her body and only frustrating the blonde further. "Can you please take her?" Begrudgingly, her wife nodded, opening her arms for the little girl to snuggle into, humming softly and encouraging Dylan to focus on those sounds rather than the loud conversations and flashing lights around them.

"That's it!" Brittany screeched as a sixth car was snatched from her grip. "I have a heavily pregnant wife and a two year old whose bedtime was three hours and forty seven minutes ago," she continued, addressing the crowd around them as Santana watched on in mild amusement. "The next person who wants to try and take my fucking taxi cab will lose a limb, am I understood?" Chest heaving, she crossed her arms staunchly against her chest, awaiting the appearance of the next car when she felt a tap against her shoulder. Spinning on her heels, she met the man behind her with a withering glare, barking out a single monosyllabic word. "What?"

"I can have my chauffeur drive you and your family to wherever it is you need to be this evening, if you would accept the offer." The older man gestured to a black SUV with tinted windows pulling through the express pick-up lane. "It's been a while, but I do have two daughters. I remember these days," he chuckled.

Her defensive stance weakened as her eyes flickered to her wife who was singing quietly and massaging beneath her daughter's ears, trying to keep them from popping due to the altitude change. Her arms fell to her sides as she sighed, nodding twice and gifting the stranger with a wan smile. He lifted two of their bags onto his shoulder, signaling to his driver to pull around and inquiring as to their destination. Brittany quickly lifted their other bags before moving to shift Dylan from the brunette's arms into her own. "He said his driver can bring us to our hotel," she whispered, keeping her voice low as she took in their little girl's drooping eyelids. Santana let out her own sigh of relief, pressing her palms against the metal bench as she slowly stood, following her wife and the man she considered no less than an angel to the awaiting car.

"Thank you," the photographer murmured, running her hand against the man's shoulder as their bags filled the trunk. "It's been a long day."

"There's no need to thank me," he replied coolly, watching as Brittany clambered into the car, holding tight to the back of Dylan's head. "The world needs quite a bit more pay-it-forward, and if I find myself in a position for a random act of kindness, then far be it from me to deny a little karma."

Tilting onto the tips of her toes, she pressed a quick kiss to the man's cheek before he closed the trunk. "Thank you anyway –"

"Robert," he offered. "Robert Wilde."

She shook his proffered hand, introducing herself and the other two members of the Lopez-Pierce clan; Santana watched as something flickered within his gaze, but her exhaustion didn't allow her to pay more than a nanosecond's attention to it. The large palm slipped from her grasp, pressing instead into her lower back and guiding her toward the backseat, supporting her as she struggled into the car.

"Mami?"

Santana smiled slightly as she slid across the cool leather seats, watching as her daughter blinked up at her with bleary eyes. "I'm right here mija," she cooed, running her fingers through the tangles in Dylan's hair, vainly attempting to tame it, despite knowing it was never of any use.

"Can you sing the pretty girl song?" Brittany's eyebrows scrunched in confusion though her wife simply nodded after receiving an identical gesture from the front seat. She cleared her throat, preparing herself with a deep inhale as her eyelashes fluttered shut and she recalled the melody of her daughter's request.

_Hey pretty girl, won't you look my way  
Love's in the air tonight  
You can bet you make this old boy's day  
Hey pretty girl, won't you look my way_

Her voice was low, sweetly whispering over the still air in the car as she focused her attention on the bright blue eyes staring at her beneath heavy eyelids. Dylan lifted her head from its perch on the blonde's shoulder, scooting across pale thighs and extending her arms toward her other mother, who gladly accepted the affection, wrapping the little girl tightly against her chest.

_Hey pretty girl, can I have this dance  
And the next one after that  
Gonna make you mine there's a real good chance  
Hey pretty girl, can I have this dance_

_Hey pretty girl, it feels so right  
Just like it's meant to be  
All wrapped up in my arms so tight  
Hey pretty girl, it feels so right_

Santana's fingernails ran up and down her daughter's back, cajoling her toward her dreams as she allowed the words to mingle with the lights infiltrating the car windows. As late as the hour was, Los Angeles seemed very much like Chicago – the traffic hadn't yet died down, nor did the city seem to have any intent of doing so itself. Unsure of how far they were from their hotel, she continued on, the lyrics to Dylan's new-found favorite song lulling the child more closely to sleep.

_Life's a long and winding ride  
Better have the right one by your side  
And happiness don't drag its feet  
Time moves faster than you think_

_Hey pretty girl, wanna take you home  
My momma's gonna love you  
She'll make me sleep on the couch, I know  
Hey pretty girl, wanna take you home_

As per usual, Santana couldn't help but allow the combined syllables to give wings to her memories, encouraging them to take flight into the night sky. She considered the past far more often than she would have liked to admit, but recalling those moments, the bricks with which she and Brittany built their life, reminded her of how incredibly blessed they were in times when she had lost that sense of thankfulness. She felt a lightness in her chest thinking of April, who accepted her with open arms after years of being shuttled from one home to another, regardless of who she had been and who she wanted to become.

_Hey pretty girl, let's build some dreams  
And a house on a piece of land  
We'll plant some roots and some apple trees  
Hey pretty girl, let's build some dreams_

_Life's a long and winding ride  
Better have the right one by your side  
Happiness don't drag its feet  
And time moves faster than you think_

Feeling Dylan's body sink further into her own, her breaths becoming much deeper and far more even, Santana ran her thumb across her daughter's cheek before allowing her gaze to flicker upward, to a different pair of blue eyes. She sang directly to her wife as she entangled their fingers, squeezing gently before beginning the final two verses – two that resonated with her to an untold degree.

_Hey pretty girl, you did so good  
Our baby's got your eyes  
And a fighter's heart like I knew she would  
Hey pretty girl, you did so good_

_Hey pretty girl, when I see the light  
And it's my time to go  
I'm gonna thank the Lord for a real good life  
A pretty little girl and a beautiful wife_

"Hollywood Roosevelt," the driver announced from the front seat. "We have arrived." He had to clear his throat before the women behind him broke their eye contact, though their softened expressions didn't falter. Brittany reluctantly separated their hands, lifting a sleeping, and now thankfully complacent toddler from her wife's arms.

"Thank you Mr. Wilde," Santana whispered as the blonde slipped out of the car, struggling to pull their bags from the trunk until a bellhop joined her in the valet parking area. "We appreciate your help." The man simply mirrored her smile, nodding once before shifting his gaze to the exterior of the car, ensuring that they were taken care of. He waved as his driver pulled away, watching as the trio entered the hotel, clearly exhausted as they leaned against one another, stifling yawns.

* * *

"This is why people buy leashes for their children," Santana murmured as she tightened her hold on Dylan's hand. Yet another man with a superiority complex brushed past them, barking into a Bluetooth headset as several interns scurried behind him, furiously typing instructions into their own phones. "Mija, stay close." The little girl nodded hesitantly, though in all honesty, she had no intention of wandering off on her own. The numbers of people surrounding them had intimidated her, and she clung just as fervently to her mothers fingers as they did to hers. "We've got to be getting close to Studio 4," she griped, squinting her eyes beneath her aviators as she scanned the lot.

"Studio 4 is just on your left. Head past the makeup trailer and you'll see it," a young woman offered as she gracefully side stepped the couple without looking up from her clipboard.

"They're like cyborgs," Brittany whispered, eyeing the precision with which the people around them moved, never once colliding as they interacted. "I don't want our daughter to turn into a robot."

"I'm gonna be a dancer, Mama, not a whoa-bot," Dylan chastised, finding her voice as the crowds around them dispersed. She swung the hands within her own as they continued walking, finally stumbling upon their destination, a large metal building boasting the number they had been searching for. "Jessie!" Pulling away from her mothers' grip, the toddler ran as quickly as she could manage toward the teenager, launching herself into open arms.

"Hey munchkin," the older girl cooed as she stood, feeling Dylan's legs wrap around her lower back and tiny hands clasp at her neck. "I've missed you."

"Are we going to dance today?"

Jessica chuckled, the excitement evident in the little girl's tone. "I don't know. You have to meet a few of my friends first, and _then _we might dance." The child's face crumpled slightly as her mothers approached the pair, and the younger blonde brushed a few stray hairs from Dylan's face before continuing to speak, her words an attempt to calm the toddler down. "I need you to be brave for me today Peanut, okay? All of the people I will introduce you to are very nice and super excited to meet you; if you try to be brave and not hide from them, I promise we'll dance, even if it's in our pajamas before bedtime."

"Pinkie?" Dylan questioned, her expression one of determination.

"I pinkie," Jessica agreed, wrapping their fingers together and squeezing tightly. "Are you ready?" The little girl nodded hesitantly, returning one hand to meet the other at the nape of the dancer's neck. She twisted around, arching an eyebrow at both Brittany and Santana, who mirrored their daughter's gesture as they stood with their palms pressed together and their digits nervously entangled. "The producers, director, and choreographer want to meet with all four of us," the young woman continued. "They're extremely opinionated and quick to pass judgment, but that's because they know what they want, so try and keep your strange Lima-Heights-Mama-Bear hybrid under control."

"I may be pregnant, but I could still cut a bitch," the brunette immediately protested.

"Of course you could sweetheart," her wife cooed in response. "You're still totally badass in your maternity jeans." Brittany pressed a quick kiss to a scowling caramel cheek and the group maneuvered themselves into the building; any semblance of calm they possessed withered away when the foursome entered, however, harsh words clouding their confidence.

"It doesn't seem difficult to me to understand caffeine temperatures," a petite blonde barked at the cowering woman nearest her. "Do I need to say it in your native language, be that Chinese, Korean, or Vietnamese? I'm not entirely sure what portion of Asia you're from." The smartly dressed entertainment dictator sent shivers down Brittany's spine, bringing to mind a similarly condescending authority figure who had left Quinn in tears no less than twice a week. "Let's try this one more time," she continued, her tone low and the sentence dragged out as if her assistant were completely incompetent. "My iced latte is too cold. Fix it." She rolled her eyes as the other woman scurried away, water brimming against her eyelashes. "Is this kid ever going to show up? I don't know why you offered an audition to someone you've never even met, Daddy."

"Kitty, you need to try and be a bit more considerate with your words," the man chastised, shuffling through the papers before him and avoiding eye contact with his daughter. "They aren't set to arrive for another fifteen minutes."

"Mr. Wilde?" Jessica called hesitantly, pulling Dylan more closely against her body.

"I told you to call me Robert. Mr. Wilde makes me sound old." Santana's eyes widened and flickered briefly to her wife's gaze, both women slowly nodding in recognition. "Is this the little girl you showed me Brody?" Another flicker of understanding passed between Brittany and the woman clinging tightly to her hand, noting the strong jawline of the man who'd approached Jessica after the spring recital.

"Yes it is, sir. This is Dylan Lopez-Pierce."

Kitty scoffed, earning a hard glare from her father, whereupon she shrugged sheepishly. "What? Does she have gay parents or something?" Santana took this opportunity to tug her wife forward, stepping into the light of the studio, and revealing themselves to the panel who would determine their daughter's immediate future.

"Actually," the older man chuckled, "meet her mothers, Brittany and Santana Lopez-Pierce. It's nice to see you ladies again." His soft expression and teasing wink reduced the nervous flutters accompanying them as they made their way across the room, offering their hands to each of the members of the table, ending with Kitty. Santana gripped the blonde's hand with veracity, fire burning in her pupils as they made eye contact.

"Well then," Brody quipped, interrupting the stare down between the two women, "let's get started."

* * *

**AN: I hope you all enjoyed, and that this helps you get through another unnecessary hiatus, haha. As always, I'd appreciate if you'd let me know what you think. :) xx Aimee**


	47. Chapter 47: Don't Forget Keegan

"Well then," Brody quipped, interrupting the stare down between the two women, "let's get started."

Jessica tilted her head down, catching Dylan's eyes, now wide with fear, despite the small number of people occupying the room. Kitty's assistant returned with a temperature altered latte, releasing a sigh of relief upon receiving a curt nod from her boss, indicating that the situation had been remedied. "It's just you and me Peanut," the tall blonde whispered, "just like at the studio, okay? All you have to do is dance with me like you always have." The toddler nodded as her fear dissipated slightly, molding her body into Jessica's as the dancer crossed the room to plug her phone into the stereo.

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't have even considered this," Santana murmured, gripping her wife's hand more tightly and leaning toward the warmth the other woman emitted. Steady piano notes filled the studio and the brunette's trust in the girl holding her daughter amplified as Dylan's face lit up. "She's good with her," she continued and felt the vibration of confirmation in Brittany's chest as Adele's smooth voice coated the walls of the room.

Jessica shifted the little girl onto the ground, though she kept a hold on Dylan's small hand, grinning as the child immediately began mimicking her motions. They went through several simple ballet steps, and the dancer never removed her doting gaze from the toddler's, ensuring that they remained in a bubble consisting of nothing but the two of them and the music. As the strings built in the background, Dylan's confidence did as well, and she slipped her clammy palm from her mentor's, embarking on her own as Jessica continued watching. She tilted her line of vision for no more than a millisecond, observing the panel before them and noting several approving nods, bar Kitty's expression. The little girl's motions grew more dramatic as the bass from the remix vibrated the air around them and Richard chuckled lightly as Dylan screwed her eyes up, clearly lost in her movements, unpolished though they were.

"I like her," the older man announced as the music filtered out.

"I told you she would be perfect," Brody agreed, silently pleased with his ability to find a child actor for his superiors.

Three pairs of eyes, two blue and one chocolate, turned to the last person at the table, whose scowl hadn't yet diminished. "The casting wouldn't be believable. Jessica is blonde, and it seems reasonable to think that her child would be blonde too." Brittany quickly impeded her wife's imminent protest, squeezing her hand quickly to encourage silence on the other woman's part.

"I'll dye my hair," the dancer offered, hoping to secure the casting for the little girl now clutching the hem of her shorts. "I don't mind at all."

"We need variety in the casting. Marley's hair is dark, and I think we'd need differentiation between the two leads, to make the story line easier to follow. If you dyed your hair, you two would look too similar." It seemed that the assistant producer could, and would, find any excuse to keep Dylan from the production, but her father just as quickly interjected, quelling his daughter's objections.

"I don't think Marley would have a problem with lightening her own hair Kitty," he chastised. "I'll have Brody talk to her about it later this afternoon, but I hardly think she would be in opposition to that idea." Despite Santana's initial hesitation in regards to this possible uprooting of their life, she felt hope bubbling in her chest; the feeling was only eclipsed by the surge of pride rushing through her veins at the idea that her child could possibly be chosen for this role. "We haven't cast anyone opposite of Jessica yet anyway," he continued, and Santana's heart nearly cracked open at the fervor with which Richard fought for her daughter.

"That Puckerman kid might work," Brody added offhandedly, content to undermine any and all of Kitty's protests. "I can get in touch with his agent if you'd like." Brittany's eyes flickered to her wife's, their expressions of disbelief mirroring one another's. The table continued discussing the possibilities for casting as Santana's mind raced, sure that her brother's last name couldn't possibly be so common. Puck hadn't been forthcoming initially, but as time wore on and their relationship developed, the brunette trusted no one more than she did her family, dysfunctional and not-quite-nuclear though they might have been; if Noah knew he'd had a brother, she was certain that piece of information would have been divulged, because by proxy, it meant that she had one as well.

"It's settled then," Richard's voice boomed out a last time, returning Santana's attention to the man leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest and his expression the picture of contentment. "We'll need you both to look over her contract and sign on her behalf if you decide you'll allow her to be in this feature. Any and all questions can be directed to Brody, who'll get you in touch with our lawyers on Monday. Does that sound good?"

"One quick question," Brittany interjected, "for you Richard." The man nodded, his calm exterior not faltering. "How closely will she be working with Puckerman?"

"I don't have the script with me right now, but it shouldn't be more than a few quick scenes. You can read over the script Monday, when you're looking at her contract. I'll send it along then." Both women released a breath and mirrored his nod before watching him shuffle his papers around the table top and tap Kitty on the shoulder. Her scowl hadn't yet dissipated, but the couple was unconcerned as they saw Jessica lift Dylan from the floor, spinning her in circles and laughing with a near wild abandon.

"Peanut, you did so well!" The little girl grinned brightly, though all three knew she was wholly unaware of what she had accomplished. "You'll get to dance with me and wear pretty clothes and make some new friends. How's that sound Little Bit?" The tiny brunette continued beaming, throwing her arms around the dancer's neck and squeezing tightly until she saw her mothers approaching them.

"Mama! Mami! Jessie said I did good!"

"You did very well mija," Santana cooed, running her fingers across her daughter's cheek. "I think we might need to celebrate with ice cream!" Dylan's eyes grew impossibly wider and she nodded emphatically, wriggling with excitement in Jessica's arms.

"Ice cream it is then," Brittany confirmed, wrapping her arm around her wife's waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

* * *

"Sweetheart, she'll be fine," the blonde chuckled, watching as her wife rubbed a second layer of sunscreen onto their daughter's back and shoulders. Dylan squirmed within Santana's grip, trying to keep her ice cream cone from dripping onto her fingers while simultaneously attempting to escape. Jessica giggled from the next towel over, propping herself up on her forearms as she watched the exchange.

"I just don't want her to get a sunburn," the brunette pouted, reluctantly loosening her grip on the toddler in front of her and beginning to apply copious amounts of the lotion to Brittany's skin as well. "You need to finish your ice cream before you can go swimming anyway mija." Dylan nodded dutifully and dug into the cone, her tongue working furiously as she tried to eat it as quickly as possible. "That was not a challenge," Santana chastised, rolling her eyes and laughing. "Mama and Mami have to put on sunscreen too, so you'll still have to wait." Brittany's laughter joined her wife's as their daughter uncannily mimicked her mother's eye roll and she slumped in her place at the edge of the beach towel. As Dylan began eating her ice cream again, this time much more slowly, the blonde shimmied further up the towel, slipping the bottle of lotion out of Santana's hands and beginning to rub it generously over the expanse of caramel skin before her. She kneaded the muscles with her thumbs and felt her wife melt beneath her fingertips just as their toddler's ice cream was.

"Don't forget Keegan, Mama!" Despite the stress of their day, smiles warmer than the sun beating down on their shoulders graced both women's cheeks. Dylan's emotional acuity was her strongest trait and as the days passed, it seemed to be a burgeoning talent she used on those closest to her heart, her unborn sibling included. She continued her regular conversations with Santana's stomach and frequently asked her mothers how much longer it would be until she could meet her little brother. Given her inability to bond with most strangers, the couple had possessed serious concerns about the introduction of another family member, but as it turned out, six months was, in Dylan's mind, far too much preparation for the shift in their familial unit; her impatience, so much like Santana's, was endearing, only usurped by the affection with which she talked about Keegan, although she had no real grasp of what his addition meant for her.

"Do you want to help put the sunscreen on?" The little girl nodded before looking down at her hands and pouting; ice cream had still managed to trickle down her fingers despite her best efforts. Santana quickly dug into their beach bag, retrieving a baby wipe and passing it over Dylan's palms, cleaning them so that they could be covered with a sticky film once more.

Small hands work diligently over the swell of the brunette's abdomen, smearing white lotion across caramel skin as the toddler quietly whispers words of reassurance to the being just below her fingertips. She tells Keegan that the ocean isn't scary, using her mother's simile and comparing it to a "big salty bath tub." She reminds the unborn child that when he's older, she'll teach him to swim, and promises that she'll hold his hand the next time they all go to the beach. With rushing hormones and unhindered affection, tears well in Santana's eyes when her daughter kisses her stomach gently then looks up with excitement, asking for a fifth time if they can go swimming. As they all bring themselves to their feet, though Santana takes quite a few seconds longer, both women take one of Dylan's hands to keep her from stumbling across the uneven sand until the smallest waves teased their toes.

The small smile that teases at Brittany's cheeks shows contentment to all that pass her, cooing at the family as the little girl laughs with wild abandon each time she's lifted above the bigger waves, flying momentarily between the fingers clutching her own tightly. The blonde can't remember the last time things were so wonderfully perfect. She, as her wife had, had begun living for these moments of calm, when the love she possessed for the two girls nearest her would wash over her in waves, just as the very same touched the tips of her feet. She tried to do as Santana did, take a mental picture of the sunlight boring down on them, picking up the golden hues in Dylan's curls and the light cinnamon shade the brunette's normally dark eyes shifted into. She memorized the warmth on her shoulders, the goose bumps pimpling her legs, and the breeze filtering her bangs across her cheeks, which were stretched wide and nearly painful. She focused on the veracity with which her daughter clung to them, the promise of tomorrow that Santana's swell showed, and the slight crinkling at the corners of her eyes – wrinkles that the brunette fought against vehemently and wrinkles that Brittany adored. Of all of the changes in her wife, those were her favorite. She had the typical glow most pregnant women did, and there was nothing the dancer had yet to find more beautiful. Her hair might have been shinier, her words softer and sweeter, and her heart growing with more love for the son they'd yet to meet, but those could not compare to the testament of the years they'd survived thus far – the worries, the stressors, but more importantly, the laughter.

It was hours before Dylan had managed to tire herself out; it was just as the sun was setting that she'd fallen asleep in Santana's lap, despite insistent protests that she wasn't tired. Jessica lifted the little girl from her mother's arms, carrying her toward the car as the brunette followed, keys in hand. Brittany stayed behind, collecting the last of their things and shaking the sand from their towels, tucking her phone between her ear and shoulder when her ringtone pierced the still, salty air. As Dylan was strapped into the car seat they'd procured upon finding out they'd be staying more than just the weekend, Santana brushed the remaining sand from her daughter's toes and gently ran her fingers along the toddler's slightly reddened cheeks.

"It's just one extra day," she heard barked out, the tone tinged with frustration. "I don't see why you can't get someone to cover my classes for _one_ day. Can't Mike take –" The brunette circled the car, finding her wife with angry tears filling her eyelashes and threatened to streak down her cheeks. "Sue, you just hired that new instructor. Couldn't she – " Santana silently lifted the bags from Brittany's shoulders, crossing back toward the trunk and depositing the items there, careful to make sure they were clean as well. Unwilling to continue eavesdropping, she settled into the passenger's seat, waiting several long, unbearable minutes listening to Dylan snore softly in the background; the only sound that accentuated the heavy breaths was the quick clicks accompanying Jessica's thumbs as they flew across her phone's keypad.

Brittany entered the car and the temperature felt as though it dropped several degrees. Jamming the keys into the car, she didn't spare a look to any of the other occupants as she revved the engine and pulled into traffic with but a glance in the rearview mirror, silently driving in the direction of Jessica's apartment.

"If you want, I can get a taxi from your hotel and take Dylan for the night," she mumbled from the backseat, hoping to diffuse some of the tension permeating the air. "It'll give you two some time alone in the city."

Santana refused to break the silence, allowing the young dancer's suggestion to hang heavily above them; she knew her answer would be wrong no matter which answer she chose, so she sat quietly, absentmindedly tracing shapes into her stomach and hoping the touch would sooth her tattered nerves like it did when it was her wife's fingers moving.

"Are you sure?" Brittany's voice was hoarse, as though she were fighting an onslaught of tears and Jessica mumbled an affirmative, unsure of whether she had overstepped her boundaries. "I would really appreciate that." The car fell into stillness again, though the brunette felt as though she were choking on the air around them until the valet took her wife's keys and they trooped into the lobby, all weary smiles and slumped shoulders. Jessica quickly gathered things for Dylan's overnight stay, calling out a soft goodnight as she hurried from the hotel room and into the hallway, where it was far easier to breathe. Santana waved as the dancer walked off, hugging the little girl tightly to her chest, allowing the door to swing shut moments later and collapsing against it with the weight of her evening.

"I'm sorry." She lifted her eyelids, heavy as they were, and took note of the apologetic stance of the woman before her. "I was frustrated, but I should have said something before we got into the car." The brunette arched an eyebrow, refusing to give in so easily given the stress of the day they'd had beforehand, despite its successes. "I know you've had a really rough week, but you've been staying so strong that it's easy to forget how difficult this is for you. I didn't mean to shut you out." Santana finally nodded, shifting her body from the door behind her and standing at her full height, no more than a foot away from her wife. "I have to fly back home tomorrow night at the latest. Sue refuses to have my classes covered, so I won't be able to be here for the meeting. You'll have to handle the contract on your own."

"Britt, I can't –"

"Yes, sweetheart. Yes, you can. You can do so much more than you think you can." She sealed her reassurances with a light kiss, her lips barely grazing the corner of Santana's mouth; the message was passed along however, in the whispered brushes of skin on skin and the fingertips tracing up the brunette's forearm. "I have faith that you can do absolutely anything, this included." Brittany pressed more firmly against her wife's mouth, letting the sweetness and truth of her words be etched in by a massaging, explorative tongue.

It was then that they both realized that this, as simple as it is, isn't quite enough. Santana needs more than reassurance, more than truth or genuineness – she needs tangible promise and tender care; her hormones have been flailing occasionally and this is one of her more vulnerable moments.

"Come to bed with me," she whispered, connecting their lips once more before intertwining their fingers and tugging the blonde insistently forward. Whereas Brittany was insatiable during the majority of her pregnancy, Santana's desire was consistent; lingering touches, breathless murmurs, and steady confessions of affection were the norm. This night was no different.

The dancer knelt before the edge of the bed, brushing her cheeks, and occasionally her lips against her wife's over-warmed skin as she traveled up Santana's bare calf. When she met the hem of the cream sundress, she shifted her hands beneath the fabric, running her palms flat against the brunette's sides as she lifted the piece of clothing up and over a sheath of dark hair. When their mouths pressed together again, slender hips felt a flickering touch as confident digits tucked beneath the strings of a black bikini and tugged gently downward. Brittany was unprepared for the fingers that wrapped around her wrist, allowing her gaze to travel to meet chocolate brown, washed in unbridled affection.

"I want this to be about you." Santana's voice was barely audible, and it took everything within her wife not to protest. With a protruding bump between the couple, it had become increasingly difficult for the brunette to return any sexual favors further than bending her knee and giving Brittany the opportunity to grind against it when they were intimate. "Please, I want tonight to be about you. Come here." She patted her chest twice, encouraging her wife to shift upward, but the flash of confusion in blue eyes led her to expound upon her statement. "Come sit up here," she continued as she pressed her legs together, more than aware of the quivering in her thighs and the heat between them as her wife's shorts hit the ground, soon after followed by her remaining articles of clothing.

Brittany gingerly moved up the mattress, looking into the brunette's eyes for a last confirmation, a habit she'd never managed to break from their beginning in high school. Santana granted her a warm smile and slight nod as she gripped the dancer's thighs, positioning one on either side of her head. She lifted her upper body, but found the action to be too strenuous and fell immediately back onto the pillows; her abdominal strength was far from what it had been, but she hadn't expected so much resistance from her own body. Brittany cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead before scooting more closely to her wife's awaiting mouth and spreading her straddled legs just that much more. As she leaned back to rest her weight on her palms, she felt her body jerk without her consent and looked down to find Santana staring back up at her with a mischievous smirk, a light sheen covering her lips; the moment lasted no more than a second or two before the brunette wrapped her arms around strong thighs and licked a trail upward, connecting the freckles spanning Brittany's creamy skin.

Connecting her mouth to her wife's center once more, the brunette lapped gently, content to build the woman above her up almost agonizingly slowly. As the dancer's breathing picked up, a caramel hand trailed from Brittany's thigh and traveled across her abdomen until her breasts were being kneaded gently as she quivered ominously. "Let go love." The words were soft, and the blonde felt them more so than heard them, but the three syllable sentence was all that was necessary for her moans to grow, echoing off of the walls of their hotel room as she clutched the hand at her chest with veracity. She felt as though she were drowning in the sensations around her, and each time her legs locked up beneath her, she felt as though giving in to the waves would be easier than treading water. So she let go.

She let go of the worries and stresses of the day. She let go of her responsibilities and her job. She let go of Sue's insanity and her concerns about leaving her pregnant wife alone in California with their two year old. She let go of it all as she felt her entire body contract, shaking violently atop Santana before collapsing forward, her head buried in dark waves and her chest heaving.

"I love you," she finally breathed out. "I love you so much it scares me sometimes."

"I love you too sweetheart," her wife answered, the words coated in comfort as warm hands ran patterns up and down a freckled back. "I love you too."

* * *

**AN: I've been MIA, I realize, but please know that I do not have any intention of abandoning this story. I'm nearly finished with my last semester of undergrad, so hopefully this time next month, I'll be able to better dedicate myself to this story, rather than worry about my to-do list, which seems to be a thousand lines long at any given time, haha.**

In other news, if you're interested and still have the heart to keep up-to-date with the current Glee season, I posted a short one-shot regarding last week's episode, Shooting Star. As always, I hope you enjoy, and thank you all so very much, because this fic is nearly to 300 reviews, which is just CRAZY! xx Aimee


	48. Author's Note! Please read!

**Author's Note**: I won't go so far as to say I am abandoning this story, because I've dedicated so much time and so much of myself into it, but I physically cannot work on it right now. In the event that I realize I cannot continue, I will let you all know.

I apologize for keeping you on hold for such a long time, but I've opened the document several times over the past few weeks and can't will myself to write anything. This piece was loosely based on my relationship, which ended around the end of April, and while I'm over the breakup (I'm fine, I promise!), it's still difficult to conjure the feeling up that the story had before.

On that note, I did begin a new story - She's My Moment. Be forewarned, it **is **a Quinntana fic, but that does **not **mean I have abandoned the Brittana ship either. Check it out if you think it would be something you would be interested in.

Peace and love to you all. Thank you for being so patient. 3


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